House Amell of Westeros
by RECKLESS SOLDIER-MS
Summary: When magic awakens in the Amell branch family, Fausten Amell takes his family to the far off Western lands. A land where seasons last decades, yet there is no magic there. As Daylen Amell's destiny in Ferelden awaits him, House Amell and its allies build a home in Westeros. But many obstacles await them, for when you play the game of thrones, you win or you die.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Age or Game of Thrones, A song of Ice and Fire, and am obviously in no way profiting from this, please support the official releases etc.

A little something I was working on, in preparation for something big I was planning. I've always liked the mage origin of Dragon Age, and I've been into Game of Thrones for a while. But how could these work in a crossover? I decided to take a page from what I did with Mass Effect and Transformers, make them a shared universe.

Exploration of how these two universes are linked, and the deeper past isn't something I'll explore in this story. This mainly focuses on the titular House Amell, and at times the Amell origin mage character.

Anyway, enjoy

* * *

Game of Dragons

There once existed, two great men, two very different men from different countries and different origins. One destined to be a king, another seeking to be a hero. But to one another, they were simply Aerys and Fausten. Two men, two friends, unaware of the destinies of their bloodlines.

On the field near a red keep they sat, enjoying the incredible beauty of summer, a kind that Fausten did not know in his distant homeland. He was a well built man, tall and strong, dark of hair with bright blue eyes. In contrast to the unkempt clothes Fausten wore, Aerys wore the spotless clothes of a prince. His hair was silver, and his eyes were purple, a common trait of his famous family. Also in contrast to Fausten he was short and slim, not stick like but not the warrior's build that Fausten had. The beautiful sword strapped to his belt was more for decoration than battle.

"We should go, the Maestar told me it might rain today," Aerys said.

"Here, but if we go further to the west, we'll avoid the rain altogether," Fausten said.

"What makes you say that?"Fausten stood and pointed to the clouds, he formed a circle with his hands, on one particular dark cloud. "Notice how it is shifting a little to the East, the wind will carry the rain here, but if we go west, we'll avoid it. Have I ever led you wrong before?" Fausten grinned, turning to his friend.

"There was the time you led us into a very unsavoury place filled with unsavoury characters," Aerys said.

"But I bested all of them before your baby sitters arrived!"

"As I recall," Aerys huffed, sitting up from the grass and frowning at Fausten, "I saved your life at least six times during the fight, I also threw sand into the big one's helmet slit, thus distracting him long enough for you to aim your spear through the said slit," he explained.

"He nearly cleaved us both in half when he started swinging that ridiculously large axe of his about," Fausten retorted.

"Ah, but I am the one who convinced those baby sitters of mine to not tell my father, that was a good night, I don't think I've ever been that drunk," Aerys laughed with Fausten, both remembering how drunk they had been.

Fausten looked over his shoulder, catching sight of three men on horseback, all of them dressed in white armour.

"Best make up your mind dragon," he said.

"I think it's time to fly birdy," Aerys smiled.

He ran and jumped onto his white horse, kicking the sides and bringing the horse's front legs up.

"Try to keep up," he said.

Fausten slapped the rear of his black stallion, climbing up the horse's side as it ran after Aerys. Both men rode for hours, leaving a trail of dust behind them. When night passed they made a fire, both sat on the ground. Fausten looked up at the stars, and Aerys looked at the fire.

"Why look up when you have a magnificent sight in front of you?" Aerys asked.

"Fire is known to us, but the stars, they're infinite in mystery, that is truly wondrous," Fausten said.

"Mysterious things can't be beautiful, but what we know of, fire," the word echoed from Aerys's lips. "Its warmth destroys, but come winter, we are dependent on it. The death dealer, and life preserver, there is beauty in that!"

"Let us agree to disagree my friend," Fausten said, sitting down next to Aerys and looking into the fire.

"I wish this moment, could last forever," Aerys said, his eyes shining slightly.

When he wiped his eyes Fausten smiled, putting an arm over his friend.

"One day I'll come back here, our children will laugh together as we recount tales of our friendship, and our grandchildren..." Fausten paused, tears of his own flowing from his eyes.

"What will they do?" Aerys asked.

"I don't know...isn't it brilliant?" Fausten grinned, and Aerys began to laugh.

It was the final moment the two men had, in which they truly knew one another. The last time they were young men, and the last time one would know joy.

* * *

House Amell of Westeros

Chapter 1: the Eagles flight

Beware the red eyed foreigner, whose fire will blaze a trail.

That was what several were told, they were told to beware the arrival of a man who would take from them everything. A woman whom hid her deformities and age through magic. She was a fire priestess, whom had taken many men, and burnt many others, all in the service of a lord she claimed was of the light. Through the flames of prophecy, she saw something that terrified her.

He came from the East, where the magics of old still lingered, where monsters treaded the depths of the dwarven lands, where elves walked free. Shrouded by darkness he was, staff crackling with power, his hair wild and untamed, a magician of chaos whom disregarded all the lord of light stood for. She looked at him through the fire, feeling as if he was truly there, feeling his hands on her neck. His eyes looked back at her, the pupils narrow like the eyes of a beast. The red haired beauty recoiled from the fire for the first time, this man would be her doom, this man with his red eyes, would be the doom of everything she knew. Crawling on her knees, she felt truly weak, her once perfect skin and figure sagged and wrinkled, her hair touched by fire, like brittle snow. She reached for the jewelled collar on her neck, but found that it had shattered.

'No,' she thought, accepting the vision, as a command.

She served the lord of light, and the lord of light gave her power. Emerging from her room, a new collar on her neck, bound in red and radiant as the fires she worshipped, she resolved to stop the rise of this foreign man, this red eyed man.

In another part of that world, there was a little girl. A little girl and her companions whom walked outside of their safe and secure castle. She would be a beauty one day, her face and contemptuous eyes, held all the expectations of what she had been promised. A marriage to a king, a chance to rule, the love of a man. But these things could be fleeting, empty promises. One friend fled, another stayed, an unwise choice. Fearlessly, as if it was her right, the girl asked a witch of the wilds for a prophecy. Blood was given, and the girl cried, yet when the light rose from the witch's hands, there was wonder in her eyes again.

"Will I marry the prince?" she asked.

"You will marry a king, he will have many children, none of them yours. You will have three, gold will be their crowns, and you will reign as queen, until another, younger, more beautiful than you will come to take what you love most away from you. Oh..." the woman's voice croaked and quivered, and a smile crossed her face. "Beware of him, the red eyed man, the man whose body is made of swords, whose fire blazes a trail, beware him. For he will take everything from you,"

The girl's beauty faded with that scowl she wore, a scowl she would bear for many years, and it would grow worse still. Her dreams and expectations would fade, but still, she would bear the bitterness and the fear, fear of her younger brother, fear of the red eyed man. That fear would fester like a wound, becoming hatred, hatred for all.

These prophecies, these tales, all occurred in the lands of Essos and Westeros.

In Thedas however, there was joy, joy in the city of Kirkwall.

* * *

After a great fire, Revka Amell, of the Amell branch family, emerged into the rebuilt city with a child. Her bastard child? A found child? None knew, but the boy was Revka's son, her love was the love only a mother could have. The boy brought joy to both her father Fausten and brother Damion. They named him Daylen. For the people of Kirkwall, he was a curiosity. Where had he come from? They wondered, debated and rumoured.

He was a brown haired boy, uncommon for Amell children. His skin light, but a slightly gold hue, similar to some Qunari or those born in Tevinter. But his eyes were the bright crystal blue of the Amell family, so the majority accepted him as the inevitable heir to the Amell branch family.

Revka watched Daylen play with the estate staff's children, elf children and dwarf children. From such an early age, he didn't question why they looked different from him. They simply were, and they became his friends. The group of children played 'knights and dragons', with Daylen playing the dragon. He snarled, and pretended to breath fire, and carried out an overdone 'death' cry. Revka laughed as her child fell back to the floor, gripping a wooden sword underneath his armpit. Behind her, she heard the light footsteps of one of her closest friends.

Sister Bella was a priestess of the Chantry, a beautiful blonde haired woman, whom cast aside the status her beauty would have won her, and turned to the Maker. Though Revka did not believe in gods, she and Bella were the greatest of friends. Bella cared for Daylen whenever Revka attended to Amell family matters, and loved him as much as the heiress did. Rather than dedicate herself solely to the Chantry, she advised the Amell's on matters of religion and morality. But above all she served as friend and confidante.

"Two years old, and already he is smarter than any of the children on the estate," Bella said.

"Truly?" Revka asked, turning to her friend.

"Yes, he hasn't quite perfected reading and pronunciation, but he understands and recognises the letters. Curious, he can't write, yet he remembers the images in the books, he can describe them very well from just a single glance at the book, no matter how much time has passed," Bella explained.

"A good memory, that skill will serve him well, how I wish these moments can last forever," Revka said.

"Perhaps Damion will father a son, and spare Daylen of the responsibility," Bella suggested.

"You know my brother, he wishes to be a knight, or to make money, who knows. I love Damion, but he loses more tournaments than he wins, and his gambling is not helping. Uncle Aristide keeps on lecturing father, telling him he's too lenient, yet he's the same with cousin Gamlen," Revka explained.

Bella sat on the ground next to Revka, refusing the chair she offered.

"Damion seeks his own path, yet, he remains very much an Amell, if ever the family needed him, he would be there," she said.

"But actions speak louder than words, sometimes I wonder if he really cares," Revka shook her head as she looked down.

"MOTHER!"

Revka quickly looked up, and stood. Daylen rushed towards them, tears in his eyes.

"Caladin, it's Caladin mother, we were playing duel knights, I hit him on the head and he just fell down," his feet were still shuffling, desperate to move quickly for help.

Bella and Revka followed Daylen's haste and ran to the other children. Caladin, one of the dwarven children, was lying on the ground, blood on the wooden sword beside him. The other children were either too shocked or upset to do anything. Picking the dwarven child up, Bella quickly ran with him inside. Revka ushered the other children inside, blocking Daylen from entering. He tried looking around her hips, trying to catch a view of Bella treating Caladin.

"Stork, STORK COME QUICKLY!" she yelled.

A thin, white haired elf quickly ran into the kitchen, taking one look at the boy and knowing what to do. He ran to the store cupboards and began gathering bandages and elf root. Quickly he emptied a box of grains and began putting jars of ointment into it.

"What happened Daylen?" Revka asked firmly.

"It was my fault, we were pretending to sword fight, and I took things too far. I took the pommel end of the sword and smacked him across the head with it, I just took it too seriously and used the techniques I saw grandfather practicing," Daylen's voice was hysterical, eyes blood shot as he tried getting around his mother.

Revka placed comforting hands on Daylen's shoulders, drawing him into a hug.

"Oh my little Day, you used a half swording technique didn't you? That isn't something to play around with, even when playing games," she hushed the crying boy, hugging him as he wailed.

Later that day, Revka watched as Daylen spoke to Caladin's parents. His father, a bulking dwarf known simply as Stone, was an old friend from Fausten's adventuring days. He was an intimidating man, even making taller and adult men afraid. Daylen spoke of how he took a game too far. Stone stood over Daylen, placed his hands on his shoulders and spoke with him sternly.

"My son will be fine, you didn't mean to hurt him and I'm told you've apologised a thousand times, to people you didn't even need to apologise to. Tell me, did your mother tell you to apologise?" Stone asked.

"I have to say I'm sorry, I have to make up for it, it's my fault," Daylen said.

Stone took a hold of his head and pulled him into a hug.

"It is not for me to forgive you, but for Caladin, I do not blame you, I am glad Calidin has a friend like you," Stone said, and his wife joined him in relieving Daylen's concerns.

Life moved on, the days went by and summer came. Fausten walked through his estate, nodding to the staff, he would never call them servants. Each of them was fairly paid, never punished for the sake of it, and even then the punishment was never death for the simplest of insults or mistakes. The old warrior looked intimidating, and his voice had a rough quality to it. But the man himself was compassionate, understanding, a man people followed because they wanted to. He came upon the child, the light of his life, whom swung a wooden sword, a look in his eyes no child he'd seen before had.

Dedication, determination, these things reverberated with every swing of the boy's arms. In that moment Fausten saw not a boy, but the man he believed he would become. He saw the promise of the future, the pride of it. Daylen Amell, his grandson, whom he picked up and carried on his shoulders, pretending to be his horse. The boy smiled and swung the sword, as if leading an army, and Fausten galloped. He visited no whores, drank no wine, his pleasure was family. Smiles and joyful laughs were what made him feel glorious, not the thrill of battle or even service to a crown.

He told him stories, tales of dragons, griffins and blights, and the truth of his own adventures. Fausten told him of the people he had met in his long years, dwarves, elves and humans, of Qunari and chantry priests. Kings and commoners, barbarians and nobles, he told him about the land of Ferelden, where a king had won his nation's freedom. Of Orlais he spoke of the game there, the lavish lifestyles of the nobility and the duplicity of the bards. Even as night fell and he tucked him into bed, he told him of the great nations of Thedas, and beyond.

"From old Valyria it was said they hailed, the dragon riders, their hair silver, eyes purple. The Targaryens built a dynasty that lasted many ages, they conquered and brought together seven kingdoms into a single nation," Fausten said.

"Wouldn't that make them an empire?" Daylen asked.

Fausten bobbed his head back and laughed.

"Indeed it would, but they apparently prefer one king for seven kingdoms," he said.

"Do they still have dragons?"

"Alas no, the last of their dragons died out, and perhaps for the better."

"What do you mean?"

"Though the Targaryens most likely trained their dragons, what do you think it would take to feed such beasts? Farmers and herders would have to raise more, just to feed the beasts of their rulers. There is nothing noble or kingly in starving those you lead," Fausten explained.

He left Daylen's room to let him sleep, and sat in the garden, looking up at the moon and stars. Everyone else seemed to be asleep. Yet still Fausten heard the pit pat of footsteps behind him. He turned to see Daylen standing there, looking at the moon as well.

"What are you doing out of bed?" he asked.

"I'm sorry sir, I couldn't sleep, and I like looking up at the stars," Daylen said.

"Truly? I do too my child," he patted the spot next to him, and Daylen sat. "Losing myself in the stars, in their mystery and promise, it helps me to experience a simpler time, a brighter time," Fausten explained.

He looked into Daylen's blue eyes and smiled.

"When I look at you, at your mother and uncle, that too reminds me of a brighter time," he said, and Daylen nodded.

"Sir, your adventures, why did they stop?" Daylen asked.

"Because eventually my duties as a family head called me back, and I got old, my dreams couldn't be fulfilled anymore," Fausten said.

"Your dreams?"

"To be a hero, but as I got older I realised that...I could not save everyone," there was a small tear in his eyes as he said this, looking up at the stars, and their promises. "To save one, also means to sacrifice another, and I could not keep doing that, because I lost hope that I could save everyone."

Daylen waited a moment, before he smiled and looked at his grandfather.

"Then I'll do it for you," he said.

Fausten looked at the boy, at the maturity in his eyes, and the smile on his face.

"I'm still young, and I'll be young for a long time, which means I'll still have dreams. So I'll become a hero, the hero you wanted to be," he explained.

With tears of joy Fausten hugged Daylen, feeling hope yet again.

But hope can sometimes fade, and there came a day in which the joy the Amell family felt, faded.

Seeing Daylen play was Revka's happiest memory, Daylen's promise was Fausten's. But they both shared the worst memory of their lives. The rain pouring, templars around them, blood on Daylen's hands, fire on one side, ice on the other. His eyes no longer shone blue, but red.

Magic had been in the Amell family for years, waiting to awaken. Daylen was a mage, and the law of all of Thedas dictated that he be sent to the circle of Magi. The circle of Kirkwall was in disarray, a result of the change in templar leadership. Arrangements were made to send Daylen away, to the Ferelden circle. Revka and Fausten never said goodbye to their beloved pride, not even the Amell family staff bid him farewell.

Damion Amell returned that day to comfort his sister and father. He had not spent more than a few months with the child, yet already understood the profound depths of his family's sorrow. It was this sorrow, and the hope that one day, Revka would have more children. That prompted a decision that would change everything for the Amell branch family.

"To the West, I formed some renown, in those lands, the Prince I befriended is now the king," Fausten said, with no passion or hope in his voice.

"Where is this land to the West father, and who is this king?" Damion asked.

"Westeros, and his name is Aerys, I remember him being a good man," it was only then that Fausten smiled.

He pictured himself, a younger man, sitting with a thinner, silver haired man. They laughed like brothers, sitting on the fields near a red keep. That memory faded as Fausten pointed at the map.

"Westeros, where there is no magic, that is where we will find a new home, a new future," Fausten said.

Damion nodded his head in agreement, but a look of sadness crossed his face as he looked at his father.

"I was not there for you and Revka when I should have been, please forgive me, I was too hungry for coin and glory, please let me make amends," he said, putting a fist to his heart.

"My son, there is nothing to forgive, you did as I did when I was young, you sought out a path that would make you happy. Perhaps in Westeros we can still find it, a place to make our dreams come true, to make the kind of land we can be proud to live in, the land which makes it's people happy. It will be a long journey fraught with danger and obstacles, but if we overcome those obstacles, we will succeed, together," Fausten explained, touching his son's shoulder, and pulling him into a hug.

* * *

Thus the path of the branch family of Amell was set. One ship sailed to the North, across the Waking sea, towards Ferelden. The other, sailed beyond the Amaranthine ocean, to the land the Thedosians known as the Osian islands, also known as the 'lands beyond the sunset sea', and the 'lands of the narrow sea'. To the North of Westeros and Essos, Fausten found adventure, to the South of those lands he found only death. But Westeros and Essos were lands of opportunity. In Essos they stayed in the free cities, trading wonders from Thedas to secure coin.

Then they moved, to their target, Westeros, the land that dragons conquered. Fausten raised the banner of his house, as his boat sailed through Blackwater, towards the harbour of the nation's capital. King's landing welcomed the duo of red eagles, and Fausten breathed in the air, the smell of shit was reality to him, a reminder that he and others like him had to improve this reality. A nation could be measured by its people, and Fausten saw what he expected, people in need of food, in need of work and hope.

When he reached the red keep, and walked towards the famous Iron throne, he walked past the skulls of numerous dragons. Gradually, they got bigger and bigger as he approached the form, made from the swords of those the Targaryens had defeated. Fausten bowed his head and smiled at the king, Aerys Targaryen, second of his name. The silver haired man was thin, not the fighter Fausten remembered. His skin had become pale, nails long and dirty.

"I see not the boy I knew once, but a man, a man in need of grooming," Fausten grinned.

Several of the men and women in the room gasped at Fausten's tone. One who sat beside the king an older man looked completely horrified. The queen, a woman with Aerys's hair and eyes, looked nervously between her husband and Fausten. Slowly standing, the king walked towards Fausten as he bent the knee.

"I may need grooming old friend, but it's clear you need a bath, one can't tell if you're a nobleman or a commoner," Aerys said, twitching his finger to get Fausten to stand.

Owen Merryweather, hand of the king, gasped as Aerys embraced Fausten. His sister-wife, Rhaella too looked at him in shock, seeing a side of her husband she had not seen before. There was a true smile, even a tear in Aerys's eyes as he and Fausten patted one another's backs.

"What brings you to Westeros old friend?" Aerys asked.

"You my king, across the seas I heard of the Benevolent rule of Aerys the second and his hand Tywin Lannister, yet I do not see the grumpy old lion, where is he?"

Aerys scowled at Fausten's inquiry, walking closer to his throne.

"This is perhaps a conversation best carried out in private, come, join me for a meal," Aerys said.

The royal apartments had finer decoration than the Amell households. Aerys had the servants come to bring in food, and there was a long wait. Fausten watched as each servant tasted the wine and food. It was no simple taste, they had to slowly chew and consume the food, take in every bit of it. Aerys watched them apprehensively, his fingers twitching, heart racing if they showed even the slightest discomfort. Those dishes they simply disliked, he had them throw out.

"Leave us now," Aerys said.

The stern gaze of a king faded as he looked at Fausten.

"There is no wine, one cannot be too careful," the king said.

"Has your life been threatened?" Fausten asked.

"No one would be foolish enough to make their intentions clear, but my old friend I fear you are ignorant to the ways of Westeros," Aerys said.

"To the political game, I know of this Aerys, we knew of it when we were young men," Fausten said.

"Yes, but when one has more power, the risks are even greater. Fausten, I am king now, every family seeks to use me, they will only help me rise if it helps them. They would even see me fall, damned any oaths they have made, damned the chaos it would bring to the kingdom. I would burn them all, if it meant the land would no longer have to suffer their ambitions," Aerys explained.

Fausten hid his fear well, this sweating, twitching man, was not who he once knew.

"What became of your previous hand?" he asked.

"Tywin Lannister," Aerys scoffed. "The small and petty man took insult to the wife I chose for my son. I thought him a friend once, but you were right Fausten, the man cares not for friends, perhaps not even his family."

"He cares for his family when he needs the excuse," Fausten said.

"Indeed, ambition is all that man cares for, he wants his daughter to be queen. I would rather keep the bloodline pure, but the Martells insisted, and Rhaella has not yet given me a girl," Aerys explained.

Fausten nodded his head, somewhat understanding it. He dared not speak his mind though, even to his friend. Instead he wished to gauge just how far his friend had fallen into this paranoid, and aggressive belief. Fausten knew many horse and sheep breeders, when you spent so much time interbreeding, you would create virtues, but also inevitably create faults, mutations born of incest. Children with sicknesses of the body, or sicknesses of the mind. The Targaryens had wed and impregnated their sisters for generations, such was their way. Throughout that history there had been good Targaryan kings, and bad ones. At first, Aerys had been a good one. Now though, Fausten predicted there was a madness within his old friend.

"What of you Fausten, I heard you have a daughter and son," Aerys said, his eyes and tone becoming more at ease and friendly.

"I did, both are my image, one foolhardy but well meaning, the elder wise and brave, they would serve the realm well and your family well if given the chance," Fausten explained.

"Are they wed yet?" Aerys asked.

"No, Revka found love briefly, but neither are married, at least not yet, if we find a land to call our own then I am sure they will find happiness."

Aerys stood up and paced around the room, as if debating, in front of Fausten, with himself, whether he should grant his request or not. A few minutes passed and Fausten waited patiently, never trying to rush the king. For a moment it seemed as if Aerys was frozen in thought, the rest of the world was nothing to him. His eyes just looked forward, not really seeing anything. The sun had begun to set when Aerys turned to Fausten.

"The Meadow, it is small, but big enough for people to settle there and grow," Aerys said, walking back to the table and sitting there. "Make your lands there Lord Amell, turn it into something that will aid the realm."

Fausten bowed his head and stood.

* * *

 _My beloved brother_

 _I hope you are well Aristide, I am sorry I have departed. But we are beginning to settle in Westeros. Though our place there is contested at the moment, we have taken residence in the Valley, lands own by the Freys. The words I have for them should not be exchanged by letter, or even spoken really. Suffice to say they are not pleasant people. They have harassed those I brought with me and recently I discovered something concerning the elves whom live in Westeros._

 _They are treated so horribly brother, I could not stand for it. Lord Frey thought I was announcing some kind of insult when I took in some of the elven families, living in the trenches of his lands. It is as if the nobility of Westeros believe they should not be heard or seen. That is something I am hoping to change. But already my loyalty has been tested._

 _Aerys has plunged the nation into war, he has done something I cannot forgive. Truly the people are right to call him, 'the Mad king'._

 _I know you would counsel loyalty to my old friend. But to have burnt villages, sons and fathers, to have burned them alive. I can pledge no allegiance to a man like that. If you receive no letter from me within a few months, then I fear yours will be the last of clan Amell._

 _From Fausten_

 _Let my actions speak louder than my words can_

* * *

Two stories both intermingle. In Ferelden, a boy arrived at the tower on Lake Calenhad. This boy, brown of hair, red eyed, looked at his gilded prison and saw no potential for home. Whilst in Westeros, his family, all dark of hair, all blue eyed, saw not a home, but a place to stay. As the boy began to study, the men fought. Fausten and Damion both walked the camp of the rebels against the crown. On the tents flapped the flags of the three families of that alliance.

A bird flying towards a crescent moon, the sigil of House Arryn, led by Jon Arryn of the Vale. Then there was the wolf, sigil of House Stark, inherited by the young lord Eddard, whose father and brother had been murdered by the king. Finally there was the stag of House Baratheon, led by Robert Baratheon, the man who would be king. Those three men looked at the small force of knights Damion and Fausten brought with them. They were only a hundred men, most wearing Marcher mercenary armour of plate and leather, some wore the armour of the Kirkwall guard. But there were knights whom stood out.

Sir Byran, a man who looked like a commoner with his cheap mail and coat of arms. Then there was sir Darius, a man who often smiled and wore brown and gold armour. Sir Uldrich was a pale skinned, ginger haired man who wore black armour. Damion and Fausten stood proudly before Robert, Damion in plate armour with the Amell symbol on his chest and Fausten wearing mail and a blue coat of arms. They knelt, putting fists to their hearts.

"We will fight to bring the mad king to justice, and to restore peace to the land, this we swear to you!"

The oath was made, and the red birds served the stag from that point on. Fires raged in two parts of the world, kings landing, where the king burnt his enemies and executed the hands who failed him. Then there were the fires that burned in the tower of Lake Calenhad. There, the boy of the Amell clan showed the fires of his magic.

"Fear this power," he was told.

He did not need their words to fear his flames. As he slept peacefully in a bed, the brave hundred of the Amell clan raided royal camps, protected villages, and clashed with their enemies on open fields. Every night in the tower was a fight for sleep and peace of the soul, the boy heard the whispers of demons in the fade. Whilst every night the Amell hundred fought and prepared for the next fight, burning their dead as was the custom of Thedas.

"Don't be afraid," his grandfather had told him.

"Don't be afraid," he said to himself, light glowing through his hands.

The senior mages of the tower, even the first Enchanter Irving, dropped their jaws in awe. From his mana he shaped complex runes that mages who had lived there a year struggled to form. There was no smile on his face as he used his natural gift.

Likewise on the field of battle, Damion and Fausten didn't smile. They never smiled in battle as they took one life after another. When they took up their swords, they saved many lives, at the expense of many more. In the capital, the king ordered the burning of more men, laughing as they screamed. Yet none could see the tears that filled his eyes, the tears of a man betrayed by a friend. For that was the tragedy of the choices people made, to do what was right something had to be sacrificed, and Fausten had sacrificed much.

Embers rose from the pyres, and what had begun with a hundred men, would come to a close with twenty five. Those loyal men whom died left behind sons and daughters, people Fausten led, people whom counted on him. Within the confines of his tent he shed tears for those men, as far away, his grandson had no tears to shed. Red eyes looked up at the ceiling hopelessly, and blue eyes looked at the map of the trident, searching for hope.

Fausten brushed everything off of the table and put his hands together.

"Maker, today I have sent many sons to join you, I called some friends and other enemies. I could offer any platitude and sacrifice, yet still it would not equal the lives taken. Not even Aerys's life would put things right, Aerys whom I called friend, Aerys whom I abandoned."

"What if? I ask myself, 'what if I stayed with him?' 'What if I had joined him? Despite all the cruel things he has done, could I have saved him? As I could have saved my grandchild.' I have not asked you this before, but why? Why?"

"Did I not dedicate my life to kindness and goodwill, did I not forgo glory and fame to help my family? Did I not help a stranger for the better? Did I not find joy and bring joy to another IN TURN!"

He slammed his fists against the table, and then looked up as if waiting for an answer.

"Daylen, Aerys, I will...I will endure, no matter what I will endure, I will continue to fight for the innocent and for the future we dreamed of," Fausten said.

With a renewed determination, he began to put on his mail, and the plates of red armour he wore in his youth.

"Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter, I will endure these tasks, I will stand," Fausten put on his gloves and gauntlets and picked up his spear.

The spear had a flag on it, one that previously bore the Amell family crest. Now it bore a new symbol, the wolf, the moon, the eagle and the stag as one. Exiting his tent, his prayer in his heart, Fausten addressed his waiting men. They had lost true, but also grown, strong volunteers from villages they protected join their ranks, and had been fitted with armour and weapons.

'For though the high ground is difficult to climb, eventually, one will gain an advantage,' Fausten smiled as the men bowed.

'This is what I have endured to receive, I have lost one friend, but gained many others. So Maker, have I lost Daylen for a reason as well? Perhaps his destiny was never with his loved ones, yes, a greater destiny must await him!'

With his faith renewed, he led his men to the Trident, and the battle that would decide the fate of Westeros for years to come.

Next Chapter 2: The fall of house Targaryen

* * *

Hope everyone enjoyed the first chapter, I based some of the Amell family members on different actors, Jeremy Irons for Fausten, Cate Blanchett for Revka and Henry Cavil for Damion.

The story will include time skips and multiple perspectives, mainly focusing on the Amells building their home in Westeros, and Daylen Amell's time in the circle and his eventual recruitment into the grey wardens.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own Game of Thrones or Dragon Age

Nexus sent a review to me, this is a reply to one of his statements. Even though I posted this story in the TV show category, a lot of the ideas and imagery I'm using is based on the Novels. Some examples being the size of the Tyrell family, the white armour used by the Kingsguard, even the design of the Iron throne itself is based on GRR Martin's original vision of the throne

Hope everyone enjoys the chapter, also fair warning, this story is rated M.

* * *

All those years ago

All those years ago, when they were considered young men. When Aerys was but a young prince, and Fausten was but a young warrior. One sought wisdom to better know how to rule, the other sought the strength to perfect himself. In the light of summer, Aerys sat underneath a tree, reading a book as Fausten practiced with his spear. He swung at the tree branches, bringing the leaves down. Then he thrust his spear forward, trying to cut the leaves as they fell. Aerys watched his friend train, impressed and having utter faith that one day, Fausten would be unmatched with a spear. Then he turned back to the book, and focused on his studies.

The history of the Targaryens was long and harsh, filled with times of peace and times of war. They were a noble family from the fallen lands of Valyria. Aegon the first, also known as Aegon the dragon, launched a campaign in Westeros , with his dragon Balerion and sisters, Visenya and Rhaenys. In keeping to the traditions, even during their time in Valeryria, Aegon married within the family. But breaking from tradition just a little bit, he made both sisters his wives. It would be the beginning of the much challenged and debated concept of Targaryens taking multiple wives.

Most of the small folk followed the same calendar and year system as what Thedas used. Westerosi nobility however used the Before Conquest (BC) and After Conquest (AC) system. After successfully defeating, or forcing his enemies to bend the knee, Aegon proclaimed by the sword his new title, king of the seven kingdoms. He was known from then on as Aegon the conqueror. He began his reign a quarter into the Steel age. They were twenty years now from the end of the blessed age. For two hundred years the Targaryans had been the ruling house in Westeros, the kings and queens. They had brought down rebellions from the outraged faith, pretenders and usurpers and even faced a civil war. Siblings fought against one another in what was remembered as the famous Dance of dragons.

But the dragons were gone, all that remained was the skulls. Most magnificent of all, the skull of Balerion the dread, dragon of Aegon. Aerys always loved walking towards the Iron throne, because he could see the skulls of those dragons, starting small from the entrance, each one gradually bigger the closer one would get to the throne. It made looking at the blasted throne bearable. Balerion's flames forged the huge and hideous chair, using the swords of Aegon's defeated enemies as the material to make it.

A thousand swords had been used, and the hammering took fifty nine days. Each smith had to line up, when one got exhausted, the other immediately took their place. Aegon was a great warrior, and he knew the importance of symbolism in a society of illiterate people. The iron throne was the greatest symbol a king of Westeros had. But a source of pain, Aerys saw it on his father Jaehaerys's hands, kings cut themselves just sitting on the throne.

"What time do the farmers get up in the morning for harvest?" Fausten suddenly asked him, still thrusting at leaves.

"I'm sorry," Aerys raised his eyebrows in confusion.

"What is the lowest rank city guardsman paid? What are fishing nets made out of? Roughly how much shit piles up on the street each week?"

"Charming, why are you asking me about shit?" Aerys asked.

Fausten rested on his spear, taking a few deep breaths as sweat ran down his face.

"I'm just asking some of the important questions, the questions you really need to know the answer to," Fausten said.

"Why do I need to know about those things?"

"Because it's important to know about the people who don't live in castles or get to have three square meals a day. They're the ones that grow all the food, who build all your castles and fight all your wars. If you can't do something for them, then you won't be a very good king. Knowing your lions from your dire wolves is all well and good, but the people need to know that their king's priority isn't whether the Lannister's words are 'hear me roar' or 'a Lannister always pays his debts'," Fausten explained.

"Hear me roar, though personally I think they should change it," Aerys smiled and Fausten laughed.

"They do mention paying their debts a lot, I want you to be a good king Aerys, do you want to repeat what every other king has done, or do something that truly changes Westeros?"he asked.

"I will change Westeros Fausten, I promise you!"

* * *

House Amell of Westeros

Chapter 2: The fall of the Targaryans

Aerys laughed over the screams of Lord Qalten Chelsted, the third hand to fail him. In the throne room, the court uncomfortably watched the former hand of the king flail about on the pye, layers of his skin burning away. The flames were green, wild fire, a concoction of the Alchemist guild. Beside Aerys, standing as the new hand of the king was the pyromancer, Rossart. He lit the flames when Rickard Stark came to get his son Branden back. The wild fire burned through Lord Stark's armour, as his son choked to death on the ropes that bound him. It would burn all of his enemies if necessary.

'It is all necessary Fausten,' Aerys thought.

The young Stark dared to defy him, to demand of him and his son. Rickard Stark too demanded of him. Every lord demanded of him, and as this war raged, the common folk whined and complained too. He had been good to them before, when he didn't have to. They dared to defy him, now they too burned.

'It is all necessary.'

He was surrounded by enemies and traitors. Owen Merryweather, the incompetent oath he was, only legitimised Robert's rebellion by declaring him a traitor, to every lord in the seven kingdoms. Jon Connington, a young military mind, the kind of mind Aerys thought would served better than Merryweather, he too was incompetent. He failed to predict Robert's initial attacks, like Merryweather he was stripped of his titles and exiled. Exile, Aerys realised was too lenient a punishment, everyone needed to be shown the penalty for failure.

'Failure, defiance, betrayal, they are all the same,' Aerys thought.

He called the small council together, filled with men with their own agendas. There was no pure spirit there, not like Fausten. Symond Stauton, master of laws, who wasted Aerys's time with talk of his own son attempting rebellion too. Lucerys Velaryon, master of ships, whose fleet was useless against the rebel's infantry approach. Grand Maestar Pycelle, a sneaky and lust filled rat who forsook all his vows, whom played the wise, old and weak old man. Varys, the spider, the master of whisperers, a foreign eunuch whom was a necessity.

"Em, your grace, this council felt that, especially during this time of conflict, it would be prudent to name a new hand of the king," Pycelle said.

"Does someone believe that his wisdom Rossart is not up to the task?" Aerys asked.

"Lord Rossart is an outstanding alchemist, but I fear a mind of greater political and military experience is necessary during this time of war," Varys explained.

"Your grace, I do not share this opinion, for now politics should be the last thing we think of. Chaos is spreading throughout the realm, the of Kings landing and the surrounding cities are restless. Our forces sent to restore order have been executed or captured, not by Baratheon forces, but soldiers bound in red armour," Symond explained.

"Red armour," Aerys shook his head as he stood.

"Perhaps you are right, perhaps a new hand is required. I will do what I should have done when he first arrived, what you conniving and ignorant traditionalists convinced me not to do. Compose a letter to Fausten Amell, I will make him the new hand of the king, he has been quiet for too long," the king explained, a hopeful smile crossing his face.

'Fausten, yes, if you had been with me from the start, everything would be better, you'd tell me what the right thing to do was, how to keep my power,' Aerys thought.

He noticed however that the atmosphere around the small council, had become increasingly uncomfortable and silent. Each of the small council members cast their eyes to the table. Pycelle slipped a letter out of the sleeves of his robe, and Varys looked as if he struggled to find something to say.

"Your grace," finally it was Symond who broke the silence. "The men in the red armour, they were Amell troops," he said.

"My birds confirmed that Fausten Amell himself has led raids, putting out the fires in towns and killing many of our soldiers," said Varys.

"And your grace, I am afraid this letter is from Fausten Amell, the foreigner obviously seeks to deceive you in some way, I would burn it," Pycelle explained.

Aerys quickly snatched the letter from the Maestar's hand. He tore off the red ribbon holding it together and unravelled the paper. Silently, Aerys began to read it.

 _To my old friend_

 _You have burnt men alive in front of their sons. You have forgotten the ideals that once forged our friendship. You have forgotten the dream we both had._

 _But in that you are not alone, I too forgot my dream, of being a hero, of saving everyone._

 _I mulled over this decision Aerys. I hope you mulled over your decisions, I hope you thought what if?_

 _I want to save you Aerys, but I cannot ignore the victims you are leaving in your wake. I will save the people from you Aerys._

 _You will not forgive me, this I know. But know that I forgive you, and mourn for the man you once were._

 _Fausten, lord of the branch of clan Amell of Kirkwall_

 _Let my actions speak louder than my words_

Aerys was still, the letter simply slipped from his fingertips. He sat on his chair, and raised his head. His face was a mask of calm and collectiveness, as if he was at peace.

"All of you, this meeting is dismissed," he said.

One by one the lords bowed their heads and left. When Aerys was alone in the council chamber, his mask slipped. Tears welled up in his eyes, his mouth trembled. Then, possessed with a dragon's strength he flipped over the table and screamed. His roar of anguish was so loud, that his guards Hightower and Lannister entered. Aerys punched the wall several times, screaming and cursing.

"Your grace," the younger guard, Jamie, the son of a former hand stepped forward.

"GET OUT!" Aerys yelled.

Gerald Hightower, the lord commander took Jamie by his shoulder and guided him out of the room. The inexperienced kingsguard looked at the door, hearing pots shatter and other objects being thrown around the room.

"Shouldn't we be protecting him?" he asked Hightower.

"Not from himself," the man's answer was simple, his eyes almost cold.

After a few minutes of silence, Aerys swung the door open and began stampeding towards his wife's chambers. Hightower and Jamie followed, both standing at the door.

"My husband, Aerys, what is wrong?" Rhaella asked.

He said nothing, instead he gripped her neck with one hand and began pulling at her dress with the other.

"No," Rhaella said, trying to pull Aerys's hands aside. "Eight times, eight times I have lost my children, we have Viserys and Rhaegar, please no more."

Suddenly, Aerys slapped his queen, the force of the blow throwing her onto the bed. He jumped on top of her, trapping her arms and legs beneath his, his nails digging into her hands. Rhaella struggled, trying to thrash her arms about. She caught Aerys's cheek with her elbow and he roared in anger, tearing at the front of her dress and gripping one of her breasts. His nails left red marks on her skin, and as Aerys began to loosen his belt, Rhaella screamed, again trying to break free. Outside, Jamie grit his teeth together, whilst Hightower remained still. He moved to grip the door handle, only for Hightower to grab his arm.

"No, leave him be," the older man said.

"Are you listening to what he's doing to her?" Jamie asked.

"I am, this is between the queen and his wife, we cannot interfere," Hightower said.

"We swore to protect the royal family, that includes our queen," Jamie said.

"Not from him," again Hightower's eyes were cold.

There was no questioning it, this was the duty of a knight. So with a heavy heart Jamie remained still, both men remained still. They remained still as a king raped his queen. With each vicious thrust, Aerys thought of the man he was in his youth, of the friend he had in his youth.

 **"Well this looks like it'll be difficult," Fausten said, clicking his neck into place.**

 **"Come now, let's not rush to do battle, maid, bring us your best wine," Aerys raised his cup, stopping a fight before it could begin.**

 **Everyone got drunk, and whilst others passed out on the floor, Aerys and Fausten stood leaning against one another. Their cups were half full as they sang loudly, and badly.**

 **"WE WILL GO HOME! WE WILL GO HOME! WE WILL GO HOME ACROSS THE MOUNTAIN!" they screeched and laughed.**

As his wife cried, he thought of the friend who did not treat him as the prince.

 **The bodies of their enemies lay at their feet. Fausten and Aerys sat back to back, both exhausted and bruised.**

 **"Well, that was fun," Fausten said, spitting out one of his teeth.**

 **Aerys shot him a glare, but the man's unwavering smile turned his frown up. Both men were laughing when the guards found them.**

When Aerys was done, Rhaella curled up on the bed, her body shaking and covered in scratches. Aerys himself sat on the edge of it, tears falling down his face. He dragged his nails against his arms, shaking as he choked slightly from the grief. He remembered the dreams they both had.

 **"You will be a great king," Fausten had said.**

 **"And you will be a great hero," said Arys.**

He wept for what was.

* * *

Battle of the Trident-Royal Army front

Rhaegar Targaryen, prince of the dynasty and first son of Aerys the mad king, looked over the map of the trident. This time of year the tide was deep enough for men to wade through. It would be a bloody, but glorious battle. Once it was won, Rhaegar would ride back to king's landing, take his father into custody and take the throne. Too much had happened during his time with Lyanna, everyone had assumed the worst.

'Understandable, we're lucky the Dornish haven't left us,' Rhaegar thought.

"My prince," he turned to the entrance of the tent.

There stood the greatest fighter in Westeros, Barristan the bold. He stood in the white cloak and armour of the kingsguard. Today he would be the prince's guard, only Rhaegar had no intention of staying at the back of his troops.

"Scouts have confirmed the Amells are with the rebels, your father had wishes for the clan head Fausten to be taken alive," Barristan explained.

"I met him at Harrenhal, he is everything my father said he was," a regretful smile crossed the prince's face.

Once long ago, his father had been a good man. Someone who told his son stories. He told him the story of a foreigner, a man respectful, but relaxed. So relaxed he insulted one or two lords, yet, earned the respect of many others. This man journeyed across Westeros and Essos, not a mere mercenary, but a man whose kindness earned him rewards anyway. Such was a man Rhaegar wanted to meet, especially in his world of backstabbers and sycophants. For a moment the prince wondered what would have happened if he made different choices. But the past was gone, he couldn't take it back. His father's obsession was ultimately his obsession, the completion of the three headed dragon.

'Aegon, Rhaella, forgive the dishonour I brought upon your mother, and show your brother kindness,' he thought, walking towards his armour.

Pitch black armour with red highlights, and a dragon on the helmet, and of course the rubies on the breast plate. Rhaegar nodded to Selmy, and the knight began to help his friend into the armour. When it was done, Rhaegar stood before his generals and planned the attack on the rebels.

"They will move forward to meet us, Robert Baratheon is not a man who will wait," the prince said, moving the pieces across the map.

By his estimate, the stag's armour would lead at the front, the wolf close behind, and the remaining banners would take the flanks.

"I will meet him!"

"My prince, Robert Baratheon has won every battle he has fought, with the exception of the Tyrell's victories against his brother. You should keep to the middle of our forces, let Robert waste his men and his own strength trying to seek you out," Barristan said.

Many of the other generals nodded in agreement. Rhaegar however shook his head.

"Robert inspires loyalty in his men, and a fighting spirit in them because he takes to the field with them," he said, seeing the doubt in each of the men.

This doubt was because of his father, and Rhaegar cursed the man, and himself.

'Robert Baratheon wants to kill me, I will give him this chance, the war will end with one of us dead Lyanna. I pray whoever it is, will bring you happiness!'

Rebel front

A foreigner led the briefing in the tent, yet despite his status, he had earned respect. Damion watched as the doubt melted away from the faces of the men who questioned his father. His father was a tactician as well as a warrior. When he spoke, he did so in such a way that men understood his tactics and agreed to them. Robert Baratheon smiled upon Fausten's recommendation for him to lead the charge. Damion suppressed the urge to glare.

Robert Baratheon was a man he hated. True, he was a respectful fighter and leader, but the man himself was not someone worth respecting, at least to Damion. Repeatedly he had stated his love for Lyanna Stark, the goal of his campaign was revenge against Rhaegar and the rescue of his betrothed. Yet, every town the army stopped at, Robert bedded one or two, even three women. He said you weren't a real man unless you had 'made the eight' or smashed in a skull.

No Amell believed, or would ever believed that it took fornication or murder to make a man. Damion didn't doubt that should Robert finally get his prize, she would be miserable being married to him. It was strange though that Ned Stark was the potential king's best friend. Damion was fifteen, and Ned was only a few years older, yet already he had proven himself a capable leader and fighter. The young man seemed to be the polar opposite of Robert, a quiet man, and an honourable one. Not once had Damion seen him try to seduce another woman.

"Damion, you'll lead the rear guard," his ears perked upon hearing his father's voice.

This time he didn't hide his displeasure.

"The rear guard, but we're planning a full attack, the royal army won't be able to circle us," Damion said.

"You can either take the read guard or pull out of the battle altogether Amell," Fausten spoke firmly, as a general and not a father.

Damion grit his teeth together, nodding his head. He had met the enemy in battles before, but not of the scale of the trident. Also, in those battles he had been a follower, not a leader. Fausten left the war council to Jon Arryn, and the man closed it.

"We will follow the recommendations of Lord Amell, thank you," the older man tipped his head, and Fausten bowed.

The war council was dismissed, and Damion walked out with his father.

"Lord Amell," they turned to see the wolf rushing towards them.

Stark tipped his head out of respect.

"Lord Fausten, may I speak with your son for a moment?" he asked.

"You can always speak to him, whether he'll answer back is up to him," Fausten grinned as he walked away.

"What is it Lord Stark?" Damion asked.

"Your father has made a plan that, I will be the first to admit is much greater than anything Robert could have composed. Lord Arryn is a good governor, but he is no war time tactician," Eddard explained.

"My father has served generals in times of crisis, he's good, yet to give me such a role," Damion snarled.

"You seek glory?" Eddard asked.

"I seek a chance, this may very well be the battle that dictates the course of the war, father takes to the front as has me safe at the back," Damion explained.

"Exactly, your father is protecting you, and the Amell bloodline, he cannot risk his family's future. If my father were here, he would do the same," Eddard said, bowing his head and turning away.

Damion shook his head, still denying Eddard's logic.

'Our future was a boy in Kirkwall, yet now he lives in a tower, a 'servant of man',' he thought bitterly.

The trident

Robert led the army forward, just enough to get the royal army to march. Rhaegar led his troops, but their movements got slower as they advanced further and further. It was only when they were knee deep that they realised archers had been hidden behind the armoured knights. The lines of men in coat of arms and leather armour, knocked back their arrows, and released volley after volley. Rhaegar kept his shield raised high, the projectiles bouncing off of it. With the sun flaring down on him, he was already beginning to sweat. One volley, then two more, Rhaegar saw some his men were dead already. With each volley, Robert had his army move just a little bit closer.

The stag, clad in his silver armour and yellow coat of arms, gripped his war hammer tightly. He fidgeted on the spot, yearning for the blood of the dragon. Jon convinced him of the worth of Fausten Amell's strategy. The royal army was slow, the perfect target for archers. They would be picked off with the arrows, and the army would advance just a little bit, enough to incite the enemy to move forward, instead of fall back. And advance the enemy did, closer to the jaws of the rebel army. Behind Robert's army, the knights of the Vale and the Stark's began to move, one army to the left flank, the other to the right.

If the rebel army was a person, Robert was the body, whilst Jon and Ned were the hands. Hands that, when finally the two armies met, clapped into the sides of the enemy. Finally the archery had stopped, and the battle was fought the way Robert hoped it would be fought. Warriors crashing into one another, smashing weapons together. Heavily armoured knights slammed together, meshing together as they tried to get enough distance to swing their weapons. Robert shoved with his shield and swung with his hammer, not caring who was front of him or who was behind him. The end of his hammer tapped against the helmets of his own allies, but when he swung it forward, he crushed armour and bone.

Bodies fell into the water, through the confusion of battle, certain warriors stood out. Barristan Selmy being one of them. One opponent after another fell to his sword, he was fast, unforgiving. His technique too was flawless, one perfected over numerous battles. He cut down Baratheons, Starks and vale knights, anyone who dare challenge him. The knight looked through the mesh of bodies for his prince, seeing Rhaegar stab his sword through the slit of an Amell soldier's helmet.

The dragon prince fought with the same ferocity any other man fought with. He brought down men and crashed his shield into their necks, slashed with his sword until he found the gap in an opponent's armour. A Stormland soldier dented his shield with a mace, and he cut off the offending hand before slashing his throat. The man writhed, bleeding into the water as Rhaegar joined with his soldiers and knocked back a line of troops. He swung his sword, cringing every time it tore through flesh. Rhaegar was as good as Barristan, and like the bold, took no pleasure in killing.

Robert however, seemed to laugh every time he slammed his hammer into another man. Fausten favoured distance with his spear, but Robert threw himself into every match. He knocked men to the ground and hit them until they stopped struggling. But the Amell head, despite his distance, Robert admired his craft as a warrior. Fausten and his men moved as if they were of one body, their coordination was flawless. They thrust their spears, blocked with them, and though some men fell, they maintained the advantage. Fausten in particular was like a marksman, his spear seeking out the gap in an armour and piercing the flesh.

Back he stepped, then forward he ran the enemy through. It was glorious to Robert, his doubts about the man were laid to waste. He was no preacher, he was a true warrior, a true man. The flag on Fausten's flag was now as red as his armour. He shoulder barged a man to the ground, and then stomped down on his neck with his boot, savagely, unforgiving, his face showing the rage a warrior needed. But it was not his enemy he hated, only the battle. Each thrust of his spear was a kick at the very concept of battle, a question to the maker, 'why is there war?' 'I hate this battle, I will end it,' was what every action showed. But the formation that Fausten moved as part of, the formation of his personal guard. They truly embodied the Amell words 'Strength in unity.'

The ancestral blade of the Stark's, Ice, was not a weapon Ned wanted to use in this battle. He wielded a sword two handed, swinging it through necks and thrusting it into pits and sides. Kicking a body off of his sword, Ned parried an axe and swung his head back, narrowly avoiding a sword swipe. He shoved the axe wielder back, and parried the sword. A blade passed through the axe man's back, a kill made by Ned's friend Jory. They kept fighting, witnessing some of the horrors and realities of battle. Men outnumbered one another for easy kills, pushed heads into the water, picked up rocks and used them as weapons and even used their nails and teeth. Ballads were written about battles, but they never talked about the animalistic side it brought out in men.

But Ned still watched in horror as a black armoured Amell Knight, Ser Uldrich, bit into a man's neck and ripped a chunk out. There was even a smile on the man's blood soaked mouth, his helmet having been knocked off in the fight. His sword was coated with blood, and bone and brain matter dripped off of his mace. He slashed and smashed, hitting men's heads always twice. The man even laughed as he impaled someone through the mouth. Despite Fausten being an honourable and kind man, he had allies whom some considered monsters. It was fitting perhaps that Sir Uldrich was named 'demon knight'.

Also from the Amell family was sir Darius, whose usual smile faded. In fact, his face was like a statue, as he felt nothing every time he ended a life or suffered a wound. He fought as leader of the 'unnatural' people that Fausten had brought with him. Elves, one of whom was apparently Fausten's friend. He slashed with a curved blade of elvhen design, moving quickly like those of his kin. And the dwarves, despite their size, they hit like battering rams. Ned had heard of the dwarf of the Lannister family, but these dwarves were something different entirely. They had the strength to bring down taller men with their own hands.

Barristan had no hatred for the elves, but still he killed them. One after another fell, they were blocking the way to his prince. Barristan only hesitated briefly when a single man blocked his path. This man carried himself differently than the other soldiers, he was a fighter, not born nobility, but someone like him whom had earned knighthood. Sir Byran was his name, his long sword rested on his shoulder and he clicked his neck back. Recognising that this was a challenge, and eager to see if one man could best the bold, the soldiers circled the two men. In that circle there was no confusion of war, just two men testing themselves against the other.

Byran opened, and the men around them gasped. He clashed blades with Barristan, and delivered a vicious head butt. It dazed Barristan only for a few seconds, but Byran had drawn blood from his mouth. He felt his tooth loosen, and he tightened his grip on his sword. Thrust, swing, parry, fake, parry, it was no dance, just two men trying to get an advantage over the other. They flipped one another to the ground, picking weapons off of the ground and swiping at each other. Byran had no repertoire of sword techniques like Barristan, but he was the strongest opponent he had ever faced.

No ring formed around the prince and Robert. The raging battle still took place around them. But it was overwhelmed by Robert's own ferocity. Like the animal of his sigil, Robert charged at Rhaegar, knocking him back a few feet. The prince rolled onto his feet, Robert waited for him. Not out of a warrior's respect, but an urge to kill the man on his feet. A moment passed and Rhaegar could see the murderous intent through the slit in Robert's helmet. His sword was sharp, but Robert had a war hammer, a weapon specifically designed to batter armour. Rhaegar kept his shield raised, trying to watch his opponent. But Robert was unrelenting, he swung his hammer again and again, never once falling back.

Rhaegar stumbled to the side, trying to thrust his sword through Robert's armour. But Robert swung, catching Rhaegar with his elbow, the sword dragging against his plate. He hit Rhaegar's shield again and again and again. The prince stepped to the side and thrust his sword, seeing a spot on Robert's arm. But for once, Robert retreated, stepping to the side, he smashed Rhaegar's hand with his hammer. Feeling his finger's break, Rhaegar let out a cry of agony. But still he fought, hitting Robert with his shield. The force of the blow knocked off his helmet and drew blood, fully revealing the obsession in Robert's eyes. With a great bellow, Robert swung his hammer with all his strength.

It slammed into Rhaegar's chest, knocking off the rubies on his armour and knocking him to the ground. Fausten watched as Robert stood over the prince, and raised his hammer. Again he bellowed and smashed his weapon into his hated enemy, again and again, the armour denting, before the bone crunched.

The battle ended exactly as Robert hoped it would, with a Targaryen dead.

* * *

Kings Landing

The prince was dead, the greatest hope for the Targaryen dynasty was gone. Aerys did not seem to mourn the loss of his son, more convey his anger and frustrations over the rebel victory. In time, confidence took over and ordered the gates to be sealed tight. Jamie understood, they had plenty of provisions, it made sense to fight defensively against the rebels. But eventually, they would break through and they would slaughter the royal family. Fortunately, Tywin Lannister arrived, his army at his back, promising to protect the city from the rebels.

Jamie knew his father better than that.

Aerys was distrustful as always. He'd reduced the small counsel to himself, Varys, the Grand Maestar and the pycomancer. Jamie he kept close by, and Jamie knew why. He was Tywin Lannister's son, a precious shield against the line.

"Your grace, Rhaegar is defeated, but Dayne still has Lyanna Stark, send a raven to him, command him to return the girl and use her to negotiate a surrender with the rebels," Jamie suggested.

"Eddard Stark is not a man who will waste lives for revenge your grace, surrender is one of the only options left, give back the girl and grant the Starks and Baratheons their independence," Varys too suggested compromise.

"Tywin is here, he can offer me better advice, his army will also beat back the rebels," Aerys said.

"Your grace my father has only arrived now because the rebels have the advantage. If you open those gates, they will sack the city and kill you," Jamie explained.

Aerys raised his hand, signalling Jamie to stop talking. He scowled at the young man, cutting his hand on the throne as he stood up. The king turned to the quiet Maestar, whom bowed and put his hands together.

"You can trust Tywin Lannister, the Lannisters have always been true friends of the crown," Pycelle said.

'Fausten, clearly Tywin was the one I should have trusted over you, I should have followed his advice about never allowing your accursed clan to enter the country,' Aerys thought.

He gave Pycelle the command, tell the guards to open the gates. And open the gates they did. The Lannister army then sacked the city. Varys and Pycelle hid and the other guards began barring the gates. Each layer of defence would inevitably be broken by the Lannisters and the newly arrived rebels. Jamie returned to the king, begging him one final time.

"Surrender, save the city and Rhaegar's family at least," he said.

"And what, accept the axe? Live out my days as a prisoner, a hostage king of those Baratheon brutes and your traitorous father. No, the traitors want my city," Aerys squeezed his hand into a fist.

"But I'll give them naught but ashes, let Robert be the king over charred bones and cooked meat, let them burn in the wild fire," he whispered.

"What?" Jamie looked at the king in shock and confusion.

A smirk spread across Aerys's face as he turned to the king's guard.

"Wild fire, Rossart placed caches of it in the catacombs, beneath the sept, underneath the streets and the red keep itself. A final contingency should enemies of the dragon try to take what is ours. They're all here, we will protect the Targaryan dynasty and end their pitiful rebellion," Aerys explained.

"Your grace," Jamie struggled to speak, struggled to comprehend the man's twisted logic.

"You are a member of the kingsguard, before the day is done, bring me your father's head," the king said. "Rossart, burn them all, burn them in their beds, burn them in their homes."

'Burn them all,' the words echoed within Jamie's mind.

He remembered the oaths of a knight, and what they truly meant.

'Respect your father,' unless the king hates him.

'Protect your family,' unless the king thinks they to be traitors.

'Protect the innocent,' unless the king wants them dead.

'Obey your king,' no matter what he tells you to do, or what he himself does.

Allow him to rape, allow him to murder, allow him to burn five thousand innocent people. Women and children, the disloyal and the loyal subjects. Stand by as those he was supposed to serve, were burned alive.

"Burn them all," Aerys repeated.

'Not from him,' he remembered Hightower saying.

'A man of honour serves his king, no matter what, that is what it means to have honour,' he remembered Selmy telling him one time.

Honour, all his life that was what Jamie wanted to be, a man of honour, a hero. But this, this was a defining moment. He didn't want to spend the rest of his life respected like Selmy, yet forever haunted by his conscience. Nor did he wish to simply accept this is how things were, to be as cold as Hightower had been. Jamie said nothing as he drew his sword, swinging it through the shocked Rossart's neck.

Aerys turned to run, and Jamie quickly thrust his sword forward, into Aerys's back. Both were shocked by it, as Aerys slid off of the blade, Jamie looked at the blood. It had not been the first time he had killed. But it had been the first time he committed true murder.

"Burn them all," the bleeding king whispered.

Jamie looked at the man, who crawled across the floor, his 'claws' pulling him forward. He left a trail of blood behind him, yet still he was alive, saying 'burn them all' again and again.

"Burn them all," he said.

He was not expecting to die. 'Fire cannot kill a dragon' Jamie had often heard it said. Aerys believed he would not die in the flames, rather he would rise like a dragon, whilst his enemies would simply burn.

"Burn them all!"

Jamie grabbed Aerys by his hair, the crown clattering to the floor. He dragged his sword across the mad king's throat, to keep the dragon from rising. Men came into the hall and saw the king bleed, and Jamie standing over him. Elys Westerling and Roland Crakehall, the two men looked at Jamie in shock, before Crakehall snorted.

"Should I proclaim a new king as well?" he asked.

Tywin Lannister, the man who conquered the city, Robert Baratheon, the loose blood relation and leader of the rebellion. Or young Viserys, next in line, or baby Aegon, Rhaegar's son. They were both the true legal heirs. But then Jamie looked down at the dead king.

'No,' he thought. 'His blood is in them both'.

He walked up the steps to the throne, sitting at it and resting his sword across his knees.

"Proclaim who you bloody well like," he said.

A king would rise, and Jamie would serve him. The realm itself was safe, for now.

Next Chapter 3: Phoenix of the Amell clan

* * *

Choice is a very big part of the Dragon Age series, as is character depth and how they think in ASOIAF. I wanted to convey in this last segment of the chapter, Jamie's struggle with his vows as a knight, and what he knows to be right.

I wanted to convey that same kind of doubt in Aerys, he is insane in this, there's no deep secret, part of a prophecy, or plan of a god. Aerys is cruel and insane, because he's sick, and that doesn't excuse the things he's done. But he's still a somewhat tragic figure who is overwhelmed by the events of his life.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Age or Game of Thrones

* * *

All those years ago

People spoke of the bird that nestled on the dragon's back. Quiet, yet, his presence was impactful. People said it was no simple bird, no eagle or hawk. The bird was something fantastical, the people said. Like a dragon it was rare to see, perhaps never to be seen again if one saw it once. That night they first met, there was a great fire in King's landing. Small folk and high born worked together that day, to put out the flames that had started at the sept of Baelor, to keep the relics of the Targaryen's safe.

That was when they saw, the Phoenix. He walked out of the flames, clad in his red armour, carrying Jaehaerys son and heir. The young man put the prince on the ground and pushed his fingers into his chest repeatedly. Aerys coughed as he awoke, delirious from the smoke he looked up at his saviour and saw what the common folk saw. A phoenix whom rose from fire.

"I'm Fausten, nice to meet you," was the first thing he said to the prince.

Then he went back into the flames, to find more whom needed saving.

* * *

House Amell of Westeros

Chapter 3: Phoenix of the Amell clan

The king was dead, long live the king. But not Rhaegar, whose body had been left to rot in the Trident. Not Viserys whom had fled to dragon stone. Nor even Aegon, the baby child of Rhaegar and Elia Martell. Gone they were, all gone, a tragic end to a once great family. Yet Robert was celebrating it, even as Ned left him in disgust. This man who celebrated the slaughter of children, and the raping of women, was to be the new king. Robert Baratheon, first of his name, king of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the first men, lord of the seven kingdoms and protector of the realm. His coronation had not yet taken place, but it was inevitable.

Fausten's brother Aristide was the politician of the family. Before the scandal of Daylen's magic, Aristide was considered for the position of viscount of Kirkwall. The two brothers were identified as 'Aristide the merchant' and 'Fausten the warrior'. Fausten however knew politics, despite his disdain for them. He knew what arrangements would be made. If Lyanna Stark was dead, Cersei Lannister would become queen. He was not overtly familiar with the families of Westeros, but he knew Robert wouldn't take a Martell for a wife, nor would they have him for a husband.

Cersei was a beautiful woman, the mirror of her cousin Jamie, whom Fausten admired. He was not quick to judge as Eddard and others had been. Jamie Lannister, to him, was perhaps the truest knight because he kept to the vow that mattered. Aerys would have had a plan, Fausten knew of his obsession with wildfire. Cersei would be queen, but Tywin Lannister would be the puppeteer.

Jamie he admired, Cersei he pitied for her possible marriage to Robert, Tywin however he hated. He knew the man to be smart, learned and politically skilled, and a tactician too. Tywin however wasn't afraid to judge a person entirely on a first opinion, and usually that meant underestimating someone. Besides this tactical failing, since the death of his wife, Tywin never smiled. He was controlling, ambitious, and utterly without pity. Fausten wouldn't have minded these points, if he didn't already know Tywin to be power hungry for his own sake.

'His legacy, that's what he cares for, looking at him is like looking at my father,' Fausten thought.

Fausten had been spending his time in the bedroom of Elia Martell. He looked at the stain on the wall, the stain on the floor, and the stain on the bedding. Blood on the floor, bone, blood and brain matter on the wall and bed. Seeing the bodies of Elia, Rhaenys and Aegon had been horrific. His men had to restrain Damion from openly trying to kill their murderers.

Gregor Clegane, the Mountain, Ser Amory Loch, both banner men of one Tywin Lannister, who was currently standing at the doorway. His path blocked by Stork and Stone. Both were companions of Fausten since childhood, since his days of childish adventures on the streets, before he picked up a real spear. Stone the dwarf took the axe and hammer, whilst Stork took the sword and pen. A smith and a writer respectively. Underneath that they were fathers and warriors, and Fausten had hoped his grandchild would lead them on adventures as he once did.

"I am here to see Lord Amell," Tywin said, as if the two men were expected to let him pass.

"Oi Fausten, do you want to see Lanniset?" Stone asked.

"Lannister," Tywin corrected him.

"Couldn't give two shits, well Faust?"

"Let him in," Fausten said.

Tywin huffed, walking between Stork and Stone with contempt in his eyes. He stood looking at Fausten, who was still looking at the stains of blood.

"You should teach those men of yours to show respect," Tywin said.

"When it comes to dwarves and elves, you have to earn their respect, expecting people to automatically show you respect isn't a way to earn it," Fausten explained.

"I didn't come here to speak with you about differences of opinion."

"Except you are going to speak to me about differences of opinion. You believe it was necessary for your banner men to butcher Elia and her children, I don't that's the end of it."

"I grant you it was done too brutally, Elia need not have been harmed at all, that was sheer folly," Tywin explained.

Fausten shook his head, chuckling slightly. Tywin didn't smile though, the expectant look he gave Fausten was a question in itself.

"When you kill a woman's children, you have to kill the mother. So in a way, Elia's death was inevitable once her children were targeted. Your men are monsters Lannister," Fausten explained.

"I completely agree, how many stabs does it take to kill a girl, as for Clegane's actions I do not approve. But he is a man who has his uses, if we had let the Targaryen children live war would have been inevitable," Tywin explained.

Fausten turned to fully face Tywin. The lion and the phoenix looked one another in the eyes. There was no understanding or respect, simply hatred, in both their eyes. Tywin was insulted by Aerys, when the king refused to wed Rhaegar to his daughter. He felt insulted even further when Aerys welcomed with open arms, Fausten Amell. A foreign lord, whom proposed better treatment of the unnatural elf citizens that were hidden across the realm. Unnatural things like his son Tyrion, whom killed his mother when he was born.

"Your son threatened to kill my banner men, and even insulted me, your challenge is the same," Tywin said.

"No it isn't, I don't mean to insult people, but some people are eager to be offended. And I don't threaten, I promise, I made a promise to kill your rapist, monstrous, child killing lapdog. It isn't a threat, but a promise, and now I must confess something you will inevitably find insulting Lord Tywin," Fausten explained.

"And what is that?" Tywin asked.

"I understand the logic in having your men do what they did, still...I really want to kill you too," Fausten said as he walked past Tywin.

Tywin remained quiet, instead he looked at the blood stains and shook his head.

* * *

Gregor Clegane, the oldest out of three children. House Clegane's Sigil was three dogs on a yellow field. The dogs were a reference to the family's origins. The first lord Clegane was a kennel master for Tytos Lannister. He saved the man's life when a lioness attacked him, losing in the process a leg and three hounds. Years later the kennel master's son sired three children. The youngest a girl, gentle and kind, the second a boy he called Sandor. Gregor was the first and oldest son, tall and strong, and from a young age he had a passion for violence. He pushed Sandor's face against flames just for playing with his toys.

Though it was never historically recorded, Gregor committed many atrocities afterwards. People had a tendency to go missing in his lands. He butchered and raped, and his men seemed to be a reflection of that. But he was a knight, ironically Rhaegar was the one who knighted him, only for Gregor to murder his children. Worst, Gregor was responsible for his sister's death. Since becoming a knight, he had taken two wives, both of whom died under 'mysterious circumstances'.

No one cared, they had just accepted that this was Gregor's way. Robert accepted it, even applauded it, because Gregor had killed the children of his hated enemies. Westeros society seemed based on murder, the 'trial by combat' system was a prime example.

"So two men go into an arena, they fight with everything they are, the goal being to kill one another. And apparently whatever the result is the decision of the gods? I hate to say this, but your gods are utter cunts," Stork explained.

"I makes me glad that the dwarves don't have gods," Stone said.

The trial by combat would take place in the next few days. Some of the Amell household had moved to Kings landing for the event. Revka rubbed her belly as Bella prayed. The cleric prayed for Elia and her children, and since hearing of their fates, Revka had thought of her own children. Her child in Ferelden, a prisoner in a gilded cage, and the children she had yet to give birth too. Stork and Stone were both standing behind them, their companions and guards.

"Maker, please accept into your embrace those taken before their time, Elia Martell was a beauty, not a beauty that brought out the worst in men, but a beauty for the love she bore her husband and children. Grant mercy to Rhaegar for his sins, and may Aerys find peace in the next life," Bella prayed.

"You pray for the two men who started this?" Revka asked.

"Someone has to," Bella sighed as she stood up.

Stork removed his coat, knelt on it and put his hands together. He began speaking in the broken language of his people.

 _"Falon'Din, friend of the dead, guide the souls of Elia Martell and her children, to the better world that awaits them. Dirthamen, keeper of secrets, let the tragedy of this war bring wisdom of the horror of bloodshed to Westeros, let them take just a single step to self improvement. Mythal, the great protector, grant happiness and a long life to the Martell family,"_ the old elf had tears in his eyes, drawing a comforting pat on the back from Stone. _"Elgar'nan, god of vengeance, make Fausten your champion, to bring swift punishment to the monsters who did this."_

 _"Fen'harel, the dread wolf, curse the Lannisters!"_

Revka and her entourage had been walking to their temporary chambers, when they met the spider. Varys stood with his sleeves together, bowing his head as the four passed him.

"Lady Revka, an honour to meet you again, the city is made brighter by your presence," the Eunuch took Revka's hand and bowed lower.

"Lord Varys, I am actually honoured to meet you, I understand you are not high born, nor were you born in Westeros," Revka said.

She linked arms with Varys and walked ahead of her protectors. Varys himself showed no resistance.

"One thing we share in common your ladyship is that we did not come from this strange land. Your father and the king often spoke in private before the war began. Even I did not learn the reason why lord Fausten came to these lands, if it was anything more than a simple need to serve his friend," Varys explained.

"Do you know what Thedas is like? Do your birds fly that far?" Revka asked.

"I know of the Qunari and the slavers of Tevinter, a once great empire, now locked in combat with the horned giants. I know of the freed kingdom of Ferelden and the empire Orlais, whom they won that freedom from. I know of the free cities in the marches, and the worshippers of the dead in Nevarra. Yet whispers I hear, curiosities, impossible things, frightening things. Children born with magic, werewolves, great cities built underground, demons and spirits, and darker monsters whom come from the deep. Tell me, is any of it true?"

Revka stopped walking and faced Varys.

"Do you consider yourself good at spotting fact from fiction?" she asked.

"For as long as I have eyes I will use them my lady," he said.

"I respect that, too few do, so look into my eyes lord Varys, its true all of it. Magic and monsters of stories exist, they are wondrous and dangerous. My son is one of those wonders, its why we left our homeland," Revka explained.

"Your son, he's a mage?" Varys asked.

It was a rare sight to see Varys the spider, genuinely shocked. Revka smiled as she thought of Daylen, so far away, learning to control his power.

* * *

Power, that was what it all came down too. To truly earn a place in Westeros, the Amell family had to prove it had the power to earn their place there. It had proven already that, in battle they were a force capable of dominating their enemies, despite a lack of numbers. Now it was time to prove that it could stand by its ideals, ruthlessly even. Damion had stated, in the throne room, that he would kill the Mountain for what he had done to Elia and her children. For the sake of keeping his son safe, Fausten sent Damion away.

That was a challenge, a promise, to kill someone who had committed a great injustice. Even though the victims had been the children of their enemy, the Amell family had made it its duty to punish those who committed evil crimes. Rhaenys had been stabbed many times, beyond her death. Aegon's head smashed against the wall, and Elia raped with the baby's blood on her attacker.

The motto, or words of the Amell family was 'Strength in unity." It meant that the Amell family would always be at its strongest when it was together. Damion wasn't in king's landing, he had offered to help Ned Stark recover his sister. Dressed in his iron armour, the young lord rode alongside the Stark and his companions. Their target destination was the Tower of Joy, located on the northern edge of the red mountains of Dorne.

Eddard's group consisted of other Northern lords. Howland Reed, William Dustin, Ethan Glover, Martyn Cassel, Theo Wull and Mark Ryswell . When the tower came into view, they set their horses and began walking to the entrance. A staircase at the side of the tower went upwards into the tower itself. It wasn't very large, Damion reckoned one could sprint to the top in a couple of minutes. There was a window at the top of the tower, and it was assumed that was the prison Lyanna was in.

The eight got closer to the entrance, when the guards of the tower came into view. In their white armour and cloaks they stood, members of the Kings guard. Hightower, Oswhell Whent and the sword of the morning, Arthur Dayne. Arthur stood at the front, holding his famous sword Dawn. Forged from the heat of a fallen star, unlike Valyrian steel swords it was pale white, but every bit as hard and sharp. Damion gripped his sword hilt tightly, awed by the very presence of the sword of morning. Many said that Arthur Dayne was a true knight, and Damion began to understand. There was no hatred in the man's eyes, no over confidence. Only unwavering determination, to see his duty fulfilled.

"Lord Stark," Arthur's voice held respect and no malice.

"We looked for you at the trident," Eddard said.

"We were not there," said Hightower.

"Your friend the usurper would be in the ground if we had," boasted Whent.

"The mad king is dead, Rhaegar now lies within the ground, where were you to protect your prince?" Stark asked.

"Our prince wanted us here," Arthur said.

Eddard's eyes shifted to the window of the tower. The grip on his sword tightened.

"Where's my sister?" he demanded.

"I wish you good fortune in the wars to come," the knight said.

He put on his helmet, both Hightower and Whent following. Then they drew their swords.

"No, now it ends," Ned said.

He was the first to draw his sword, followed by the other northern lords. Damion gripped his sword hilt tightly, a moment passing in which doubt ate away at him. The respect he held for these men, these warriors, surpassed what he held for his father's men.

But out of that respect, he too drew his sword.

* * *

The arena had been prepared. High lords sat on comfortable chairs, the low born stood on the platforms above them. Though he had not yet been crowned, Robert sat where the king would have. Jon Arryn was beside him, so too was his wife Lysa. Tywin Lannister sat with his daughter and brothers, Tygett and Kevan, though the former sat the furthers away from Tywin. From the 'Amell side' of the arena, Revka looked up at Cersei. She was indeed beautiful, she had an adoring look in her eyes, aimed at Robert. Robert himself was handsome, tall and strong, his long raven hair made him look like a hero of legend.

Lords whispered amongst themselves, the futility of having a trial by combat when a war was being waged. But then the arena grew silent as the accused stepped forth. Just seventeen years old and Gregor Clegane was freakishly large. Eight feet tall, Revka estimated, the heavy plate armour he wore would have been impossible for anyone smaller than him to wear. His hands were large enough to carry a great sword one handed. The plate helm he wore, had on top of it a fist punching up towards the sky.

"Fucking hell, that is a big man," Stone said.

"I've killed bigger," Sir Byran huffed.

"I would volunteer to fight it, but I'm not a mad man, where is Ulrich anyway?" Darius asked.

"We had to tie him to the ship mast, he volunteered very eagerly," Stork said.

"Only one person is going to fight him," Revka said.

As the Amell members stopped talking, gasps eroded from the crowd. Slowly walking towards the arena, was the Amell champion. He walked proudly, raising his spear high. The lords and ladies whispered amongst themselves, even the small folk muttered. The champion was wearing black and red Targaryen armour. But the banner attached to his spear, was not the Targaryen three headed dragon, or the united eagles of the Amell family. It was a crowned stag, a statement of the Amells endorsing Robert as king.

When Fausten removed his helmet, he heard people call him fool. Fool for choosing to fight himself. Many stated that Sir Ulrich or Byran would have been better suited. Fausten agreed, those two were much better fighters than him. Ulrich slew more men at the trident than any other. Even when Rhaegar was dead, he kept fighting. Byran himself fought Barristen to a standstill. Revka gave the spear to Revka, and she raised it high.

'This is for your grandchildren Aerys,' Fausten thought.

He closed his eyes and knelt, putting his hands together.

"Blessed are the they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked, and do not falter," he said, before rising.

He put on his helmet, proud of the dragon wings on the side of it. Raising his hand, he took from the weapon rack the spear he wielded in his youth. Though there were no mages in Westeros, that did not mean that the Amells could not carry magic with them. Fausten stepped into the ring, aiming the cross shaped blade of the spear at the Mountain.

When the drum was beaten, both men rushed forward.

The Mountain was surprisingly quick for his size, and strong too. Size wasn't always a reflection of speed, the small and fast could easily be crushed by the large and faster. Gregor was fast, Fausten had to block the Mountain's sword with the shaft of his spear. The very force of the blow bent the spear slightly, and pushed Fausten back. He adjusted his footing, pulled back his head and thrust his spear towards the slit in Gregor's helm.

'Fast, so damn fast, it's a good thing I'm challenging him now,' Fausten thought.

Gregor dodged the swipe, the blade of the spear dragged across the side of his helm. He then swung the sword for Fausten's arm. Gasps escaped from the spectators, as Fausten ducked, the blade drawing sparks from the wings on his helm. Fausten thrust and slashed with his spear, quickly resuming the attack after each parry of Gregor's sword. The Mountain kept his blade close, minimising the advantage its reach had. He was defensive, never doubting that Fausten could strike through the gaps in his armour. Fausten's skill with a spear was legendary, he didn't poison his blades like the Viper, but he had none of the Martell Prince's bravado.

'If Fausten had challenged Gregor when they were both older, the Mountain would have crushed him. Even if they were both the same age, Gregor would still win,' Byran thought, analysing the fight.

'Gregor isn't inexperienced when it comes to violence, nor combat really, he's cursed I suppose, he will always fight opponents whom are smaller and weaker than him,' Stork too analysed it, tracing every movement.

Robert leant forward on his seat, watching the fight as intensively as the other lords. He found himself gasping every time Fausten was thrown back. Despite the man's sympathy for dragons, he was someone who had won Robert's respect. Fausten was releasing a flurry of thrusts, scraping Gregor's armour and dodging his crushing blows. The Mountain swung his sword with all his strength, trying to take off Fausten's head. But Fausten pulled his head back, the blade narrowly missing his eyes through the helmet slit. He quickly swung his spear around, bashing Gregor across the side of his helm.

The helmet of the Mountain clattered to the floor. Gregor stumbled back, blood trickling down his cheek. His anger made him look like an older man, and he yelled with a voice that could break stone. He moved towards Fausten, attacking him in anger, fuelling the strength of his blows. Fausten parried and stepped back again and again. He rolled to the side as Gregor slammed his sword into the ground. The Mountain then swung his arm, hitting Fausten so hard that he was thrown back, sliding across the floor.

Tygett spotted a smirk on his brother's face. He shook his head, never approving of Tywin's reliance on Gregor. He was their banner man, his actions reflected on them. Killing the Targaryen children was a sad necessity, but Tygett didn't doubt that his brother would come to regret it. Robert hated the dragons, he could have been the one to get the blame. Tygett himself believed Gregor to be unstoppable, a force of sheer violent will. But then he saw lord Fausten, so determined, he was everything his brother wasn't. When he set a task, he did it himself, and Tygett respected that immensely.

As the duellists blades met again, Tywin's hands clenched in apprehension. Fausten's spear trusts were getting closer to Gregor's face, and both combatants were getting slower. Fausten trapped Gregor's sword, and made the crowd gasp with his next move. He cut Gregor's brow with the wings on his helmet, then dived forward, slamming the forehead of his helmet into Gregor's cut. The Mountain roared in anger and pain, swinging his sword wildly.

"What was that?" Stork asked.

"Just the right kind of cut above the eyes," Byran said.

"The kind that bleeds," Stone smirked.

Indeed, blood was flowing from the cut and into Gregor's eyes. The Mountain roared in fury, wiping the blood onto his gauntlet. He thrust his sword at Fausten, the blade sliding down the cross blade. The cross blade locked with the great sword's guard, and the blade of the sword slid against Fausten's shoulder guard. Fausten dropped his spear, punching Gregor across the face. The strength in the man's punch shocked Gregor, and dazed him. When the spear landed on his foot, Fausten kicked it back into his hand .

Suddenly, the mountain grabbed Fausten by his throat. Quickly Fausten slammed his hand, rapidly against Gregor's face, specifically aiming for the cut, causing more blood to flow into Gregor's eyes.

"Come on Fausten, come on," Byran whispered.

The Mountain slammed Fausten hard into the ground. He let out a yell, feeling an immense pain in his back. Gregor pushed his knee into Fausten's chest, throwing his sword aside and gripping the sides of his helmet. The Mountain pushed, and the crowd heard the sound of metal crunching.

"ELIA OF DORNE!" the Mountain yelled, continuing to push against the Targaryen helm.

"I KILLED HER SCREAMING WHELP!"

Revka put her hands to her mouth, gasping as she heard the metal begin to bend.

"THEN I RAPED HER!"

Darius and Byran were both holding onto Stork and Stone, trying to keep them from interfering.

"THEN I SMASHED HER FUCKING HEAD IN!"

The lords and ladies of Westeros gasped as the Mountain lifted up Fausten's head.

"JUST LIKE THIS!"

People gasped, as blood spread across the floor.

Skill was not always measured by the height, weight and age of an opponent. Often it was tactics, knowing what to do in the fight. Specifically what you did to gain an advantage over an enemy. Rage was good fuel, it could make you hit harder and fight longer. But it could also blind you, make you slip up and make a mistake that could prove fatal.

Gregor's mistake was assuming that the battle was over. In his enraged state, he didn't notice Fausten slip his arms between Gregor's. Didn't notice Fausten's fingers slip into his nostrils. Then with a sharp pull as Gregor forced his head down, Fausten ripped a chunk off of the Mountain's face.

This time, Gregor was screaming in agony. Fausten got off of the floor, flicking the Mountain's nose away. As Gregor nursed his wound, Fausten bent his helmet so that he could take it off. He picked up his spear and looked towards the Mountain.

"You raped that woman, whilst covered in the blood of her children. Deep inside that sick head of yours Clegane, you know that you deserve this," Fausten said.

"YOU'RE DEAD!" Gregor roared, picking up his sword.

Fausten tapped the shaft against the ground, again and again he tapped it as Gregor began to approach him. The blood frothing from his face made him slower, but he seemed more careful this time.

"Go for it," Revka smirked, knowing exactly what her father had planned.

'Momentum Rune,' one tap and a symbol on the shaft began to glow.

'Intensifying rune,' with another tap, another symbol began to glow on top of that one.

'Grandmaster slow rune,' he tapped it, making another symbol glow as the Mountain swung the sword at him.

'Grandmaster hale rune,' with the fourth tap and glow he brought his spear up, deflecting the Mountain's sword and making him step back.

'Paragon flame rune!'

He tapped the spear against the ground, one final time. The natives of Thedas smirked, even laughed as every native of Westeros was frozen in shock. They had heard of the flaming sword of Thoros of Myr, whom would set his sword alight with wild fire. There was no magic with this act. Magic contained within a rune, had come to Westeros, and it ignited a fire across Fausten's spear, the likes of which no one in Westeros had seen before. It as if he was holding onto a funeral pyre.

"This is what we bring to Westeros, wonders from Thedas, now COME GREGOR CLEGANE!" Fausten challenged.

Overcoming his shock, Gregor fearlessly swung his sword towards Fausten. The Lord of the Amells swung his flaming lance into the Mountain's sword. Again and again they slammed their blades together. Both yelled as they swung their blades together. Finally, the sword of the Mountain shattered. Then Fausten threw his spear forward, piercing through the Mountain's chest plate, and burning his heart. He pulled the blade out of Clegane's chest, and swung his spear straight into the Mountain's head.

Tygett saw a look he wasn't used to seeing in his brother, surprise when Fausten revealed the magic of his weapon. Then there was shock, when the Mountain's still glaring head landed on his lap. Next to Tywin, Cersei screamed, and the lords and ladies of Westeros stood up, applauding the skill that Fausten had fought with. Fausten struck his spear into the ground and raised his hand. It was only Robert's thundering voice that silenced the crowd.

"SILENCE YOU SHITS!"

"Thank you my lord, people of Westeros, my people, this is not the will of the gods. Gregor Clegane the man was a vile creature, no better than an animal. But as a warrior, he was without a doubt the strongest in Westeros, perhaps the strongest human who ever would live. My victory came as a result of this spear, this weapon and the runes from Thedas. These runes enhanced this spear, no different from when a sword is altered by a smith. This is but one of the wonders I bring with me from Thedas."

"Alongside those wonders I bring with me a desire, a desire to make my new homeland great again. Through the support of the new ruling family, the Baratheons of Storm's end. Aerys Targaryen welcomed me as a friend, not a servant of the realm. I swear fealty now to who we all know will be the new king of the realm, Robert Baratheon!"

With those words Fausten bowed, and Revka raised the flag of the crowned stag. Robert smiled as he stood up. In his head, he thought of the perfect ending. Him on the iron throne, his beloved Lyanna on his lap.

* * *

But there was no happy ending, it was not even truly an ending. Eddard Stark returned from the tower of joy with only Damion and Howland. Reed returned to the north, and Damion returned to his father's side. Fausten could tell that something weighed heavily on his son's mind. He found Damion saddling his horse.

"So...Lord Stark has a bastard," Fausten said, leaning against the wall.

Damion remained silent, strapping his sword to the saddle.

"Ned, honourable to a fault, dutiful and...every other word to do with keeping to your vows. We never saw him flirt with or even try to court another woman. He goes off to save his sister and comes back with a bastard boy? Do you expect me to believe that Damion?" Fausten asked.

"Everything is a lie father, Robert is a king who loved Lyanna, honour exists, this being home. All just lies, our real home is across the sea, and we left it why? Because of fear, not hope for a better future, but fear that Revka would give birth to a mage. I cannot serve this family anymore, I can't serve any family," Damion explained, as he climbed onto his horse.

"You have no pride for me, that I understand, and like many you struggle now to have pride in yourself. Go my son, and know that, in committing one small dishonour...well, I can think of no more knightly a thing to do for the protection of an innocent. Know also that you have a proud father," Fausten smiled as he reached to grasp Damion's hand.

Damion kicked the sides of the horse and galloped away, before his father could take his hand. Fausten sat on the ground, leaning his aching back against the wall. The injury inflicted by Gregor, would no doubt become a problem in a few years. Another reminder to Fausten that he had barely survived. But instead he focused on another reminder, of a time he wished he could go back to.

 **"I'm Aerys, it's nice to meet you too!"**

 **"One day you will be a hero!"**

 **"I wish this moment, could last forever!"**

Fausten's hands had formed fists, and they were shaking. His arms rested on his knees, and his eyes were cast to the ground. He cried, and cried for a time that was lost and would never return.

It was not an end, but a beginning.

Chapter 4: Settling in

* * *

Hope everyone enjoyed the chapter. Originally I was going to have Gregor survive, but then I figured, lets change things up a bit. I've got something planned, you guys will have to wait and see.

Originally I was also going to include the Tower of Joy fight, as you see I included Hightower in it, but I'm leaving the results of that fight till later. Not that you don't already know (if you don't, then where have you been for the past year? lol)


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Age or Game of Thrones

* * *

Dragonstone

A storm was raging, the likes of which Viserys had never seen before, the likes of which men older than the young boy had never seen either. It was decimating the ships of the Targaeryen fleet, destroying one of their last great resources, drowning some of their last truly loyal men. Viserys watched the devastation, the excitement over the powerful event soured by its implication. He turned away from the window, and ran, through the corridors of the keep, past soldiers cowering. The boy sought the arms of his mother, Rhaella Targaeryen, sister wife of the mad king. As he got closer and closer to her room, Viserys heard something more devastating for a child than the booms of thunder.

Rhaella screamed, in pure agony, gripping her bed sheets and gritting her teeth together. She took long and deep breaths, her maids and the Maestar urging her to push. Her child had to come out, she had to enter this world, through this storm, through the pain it bought. There had been female warriors in the Targaeryen family, in the age the dynasty was forged, Aegon the conqueror and his sister wives rode atop their dragons. Rhaella was no warrior, but she had strength, and she would fight. She would fight so that her child could live. Gathering the strength and fury of dragons, Rhaella screamed and let out one final push.

The screams were followed by the wails of a baby. Rhaella weakly looked up at the child the Maestar held, a baby girl. She raised her arms, urging the Maestar to put the baby into them. She held the child, hushing her as she cried.

"You are a fierce dragon aren't you?" she asked the babe. "Fire and blood, take back what is ours, Daenerys Stormborn!"

* * *

House Amell of Westeros

Chapter 4: Letters from Westeros

"All hail Robert of the House Baratheon, first of his name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the first men, lord of the seven kingdoms and protector of the realm!"

The throne room felt bare, Robert wanted all of the dragon bones cleared out. He stood proudly in front of the Iron throne, as the high Septon, the chief priest of the faith of the seven, spoke through his titles. Then he planted the crown on Robert's head. All applauded the new king, and slowly he walked up towards the Iron throne. The last of the kingsguard, Jamie and Barristan, stood close to the throne. Barristan was still nursing a shoulder wound he had received at the Trident. He caught sight of the pregnant Revka Amell, but saw nothing of her father. Fausten's soldiers were not welcome in the throne room.

'A pity, I hoped to meet Ser Byran outside of the battlefield,' Barristan thought.

Robert sat on the throne, resting his war hammer between his legs. Slowly the lords and ladies kneeled. But more kneeling was demanded, individuals had to bend the knee. Those whom had been loyal to the Targaryens had either fled the country or were dead. Robert sat on the throne uncomfortably, and his expression told the realm he didn't want to be there. A look from Jon Arryn though was enough to make him stand up. With a heavy sigh Robert raised his voice.

"Jon Arryn, Eddard Stark, Mace Tyrell, Tywin Lannister, step forth," Robert said.

The four lords stepped into the gap between the court and the throne. Robert smiled at his foster father and friend.

"Jon Arryn, I am the man I am today because of you, it is my wish that you continue to advise me as the hand of the king. Also as per the tradition of house Arryn, you continue to serve as warden of the East."

Arryn bent the knee as expected.

"You honour me already your grace, I will continue to serve the realm," the older man said.

"Eddard Stark, if not for the Targaryens we would have been brothers. You have been my most steadfast supporter. As per the tradition of house Stark, continue to serve as warden of the North, and for your support ask any request of me, if it is within my power, I will grant it," Robert explained.

"I have no request your grace," Ned said.

He bent the knee, and on the king's command graciously stepped back.

"Mace Tyrell," there was disdain in Robert's voice as a short and plumb man, with a thick moustache stepped up.

He seemed in some ways the physical opposite of Tywin. Revka guessed Mace Tyrell, lord of High garden, was opposite in terms of his personality as well.

"You served the Targaryens during the war," Robert said.

"Yes your grace, however as soon as I heard of your victory in the city, I commanded my forces to stop their siege of Storm's end. I throw myself at your mercy your grace, and humbly beg that you allow my family to serve you," Mace explained.

"Enough of your apologies, damn it, as per tradition of your house you may continue to serve as warden of the south, only if you bend the knee and swear fealty to the royal family!"

Mace quickly bent the knee, and went into a boring tirade over how his family would forever serve House Baratheon, and he profusely thanked the king for his mercy. Next to Mace, Tywin shook his head in embarrassment over the Tyrell's lack of pride. When it came time for him to step forth, Tywin remained quiet, listening to the new king.

"Tywin Lannister, thanks to you we were able to take kings landing and the iron throne. As per the tradition of House Lannister, continue to serve as warden of the west. And in recognition of your loyalty, ask anything of me, if it is within my power I will grant it," Robert explained, waiting for Tywin's request.

'Make Cersei queen, make Cersei queen, make Cersei queen,' Revka expected.

"My deepest sympathies for the loss of your betrothed. For the good of the realm, kings must have strong queens. My daughter Cersei..."

'Oh what a fucking surprise,' Revka thought.

"Is the most beautiful woman in the seven kingdoms, none have contested this."

'Hmmm,' Revka looked over at the blonde haired girl and shrugged. 'She's pretty, but only if she smiles!'

"She has studied well and knows her duty as both a wife and a queen, she also remains innocent your grace."

Robert looked as if he too had expected this request. He looked down at Jon Arryn, who nodded his head. Even then Robert looked as if it hurt to say what he said next.

"Very well, I swear to take Cersei Lannister as my wife, to love from this day, until my last day!"

The smile on Cersei's face was the kind a girl would get, when their dreams were being fulfilled. Jamie scowled slightly, looking between his sister and the violent man sitting on the throne. When the kings guard was called up, he and Barristan took the places of the lords.

"Ser Barristan Selmy, Ser Jamie Lannister, you two are the last of the kingsguard. By my decree you will continue to serve as two of my seven. Selmy, you will take up Hightower's position as lord commander of the kings guard, however, you will have no place on the council," Robert explained.

Both knights bowed, their swords at the ready. Many whispered approval of Selmy's ascension to lord commander. But there was contempt for Jamie Lannister, whom they named 'the king slayer'. Varys and Pycelle were both called up, Varys simply bent the knee and swore to serve the king. Pycelle made a show of it, bumbling embarrassingly, making a mockery of old and helpless men everywhere. Both were allowed to keep their positions on the council.

Squires and common soldiers were knighted, lords were granted land and additional titles. Through that, the representative of House Amell was summoned. Revka walked through the crowds of whispering and murmuring nobles.

"You could all just speak to me directly you know," she said.

Her comment drew gasps from some, and smiles from others. Robert himself wasn't holding back his laughter. Even Tywin Lannister smirked, admiring the fire of the Amell heiress. The pregnant woman walked as graciously as she could to the king, curtsying. It was not as elaborate or graceful as most Westeros women, but it still earned a respectful nod from Robert.

"Revka Amell, even now your father continues to serve the crown, and astonish me," Robert said.

"Thank you for your praise your grace," Revka bowed her head.

"Bend the knee Lady Amell, and I will fulfil the promise made by the mad king, your father will be made the lord of the Meadow," Robert said.

Revka knelt and spoke the words, service to the seven kingdoms, to the Baratheon dynasty. The realm celebrated the appointment of the king, with a feast. Robert ate and drank, far more than men under his command had initially seen him drink.

"KING SLAYER!" Robert bellowed, raising his cup. "Jamie the fucking king slayer Lannister, that's what they're calling you now, old Ned, told me to strip you of knighthood," the king hiccupped.

He took a plate of food, bigger than the last one and began to stuff his face. Tywin shook his head in dismay. Robert however seemed to notice this. He joyfully pat the man on the back, forcing Tywin to grab the table. The man's drunkenness only seemed to increase his strength.

"Smile Tywin, we'll be family soon, I'll call you father and you'll call me son," Robert's laugh echoed over the revelry of the other nobles.

Away from the drinking and stuffing, Revka stood on one of the balconies, looking out at the stars. She stroked her enlarged belly, wondering if Daylen could look up at the stars. It had been some time since she had been able to send a letter. She would send her son a long letter, perhaps a book, Revka had always liked writing and it couldn't have been fun just studying all day.

'But what to call it?' she wondered.

She thought of titles, 'The dragon's fall,' 'the tragedy of the wolf and dragon', the latter was too long. Then there was how much she knew, compared to what she should actually write. It was said that the victor wrote history, but Revka believed that there were truths. Kings throughout history had done bad things, things in service of their people and things that had thrown them deeper into poverty. The Amell ancestry, before they became a noble family of Kirkwall, was rooted in magic. One of those ancestors had been a powerful mage, a skilled warrior and a forward thinking, but utterly ruthless warlord. His tale had two stories, the story of a tragic hero, and the story of an evil villain. But Revka believed that there was a truth, that no man could be defined by evil or good. Everything was shades of grey.

Even honour had been somewhat perverted by people's ideas and opinions. But the truth, to Revka it would always be what it is defined as. The quality of knowing and doing what is morally right. Fausten had done just that, Revka faulted him for the betrayal of his friend, but applauded his desire to oppose a powerful king whom had fallen from grace. Had Lyanna loved Rhaegar? Revka could not say, both within her thoughts and out loud. To do so was both ignorant and treasonous, the latter regardless of proof. Only those involved knew the complete truth. Too many times, Revka had seen men and women become consumed by half truths.

"Lady Amell," she turned her head, smiling as Jamie Lannister stepped onto the balcony.

"Ser Jamie," she curtsied respectfully.

"Perhaps you would prefer to call me king slayer?" he asked.

"I can see how others would look down on you for that, you'll find most of House Amell will admire you for that," Revka said.

"I acted dishonourably," Jamie huffed, somewhat mocking the tone other knights had taken, Revka noticed a very specific person being mocked, Jamie had taken on a butchered northern tone.

"Honour: the quality of knowing and doing what is right, I've always liked that definition more than the others," Revka said, turning back to the stars.

"Congratulations on being given your new home, though I can't say I envy you, there are some stories behind the Meadow," Jamie said.

"Congratulations to your family as well, you'll soon be a member of the royal family."

"There will probably be a tourney to celebrate the marriage, will your brother participate?" Jamie asked.

"Do you want to be known as the knight that finally knocks Damion off his horse?" Revka asked and Jamie laughed.

"One thing I respect about your brother, he loses on his horse," the knight said.

"You should see him fight with his fists, he never loses by knock out, he loses on his feet too," Revka was about to laugh when she felt a sharp pain.

Jamie stepped back in slight shock, Revka gripped her belly, her skirt going wet.

"Oh dear, someone's coming," she said.

"SOMEONE GET A MAESTAR!" Jamie yelled.

'Please don't be Pycelle, please don't be Pycelle, please don't be Pycelle,' Revka thought.

"Em, excuse me, please make way!"

"FUCK NO!" Revka yelled.

"Out of the way, let me through," Bella pushed through the crowds of Westerosi nobility aside and slid to her friend's side, helping her to sit. "I calculated you weren't due for another week," she said.

"Well the baby wants out now, and I think it gets the final say in the matter," Revka took deep breaths, biting her lip as the pain increased

"You, give me your cloak," Bella said to Jamie.

He took his cloak off without hesitation, Bella laid it at Revka's feet.

"Sit there, support her, I need someone to get cloths and water, hurry!"

"Em, Em, Em, if I may, I believe I'm much more qualified to..."

"You're not going anywhere near my legs Pycelle," Revka snarled.

"All of you back, have some decency," Selmy said, drawing the crowd back.

Robert and Arryn weaved through the dispersing crowd and both widened their eyes at the sight of Revka with her legs wide open. Bella ripped and pulled aside Revka's stockings, crouching between her legs. She gave her a reassuring look.

"I can see the head, push Revka, push," Bella said.

"Don't need to tell me TWICE!" Revka screamed.

Her teeth grit together as she pushed, pushed with everything she had. Bella was ready, taking off her scarf and waiting for the child. A few servants arrived with a pile of cloths and a bowl of water. Revka pushed again, her fingers digging into the palm of her hands. Jamie supported her on his chest, marvelling at the woman's strength. Eventually screaming was heard, but not Revka's. Bella hushed the little bundle in her arms, taking the cloths and cleaning the child.

"What is it?" Revka asked.

"A boy, he has blue eyes, he's beautiful Revka," Bella said.

Revka suddenly felt another pain.

"What's wrong?" Jamie asked.

"Maker, I think...she's having twins," Bella gasped.

"Oh what a FUCKING BLESSING!" Revka yelled as the contractions began again.

It was more agonising than the birth of her son. But eventually, Revka gave birth to what some people believed to be her second child. A girl whose eyes were not as blue as her brother's, hers had the slightest shade of green in them. Thus the crowning of the king was marked also by the birth of two children.

* * *

As Robert was crowned, and Stannis lost the Targaryens at Dragonstone, a battle of wits was taking place. Dorne had long been supporters of the Targaryen dynasty, Martells had wed Targaryens before Princess Elia. The Martells ruled over Dorne from their seats at Sun spear. Prince Doran Martell was their ruler, the oldest son whom had lost two brothers in their infancy. His brother Prince Oberyn was one of the finest warriors in Dorne, nicknamed the Viper.

Oberyn and Doran led only a small honour guard to meet the Amell entourage. To their surprise, only Fausten Amell waited for them. Fausten Amell, clad in red armour and a coat, with a helmet that had genuine stag horns attached to it. His spear was strapped to his back and he stood in the middle of five boxes. Two were small, one smaller than the other, and like the larger one were beautifully carved. The fifth box was a mere cargo crate, the wood was thick, meant to hold something.

The two Dornish princes were in full armour. Oberyn carried his own spear, one Fausten knew to be coated with poison. He also rode atop an incredible black stallion, whose mane and tail hair was like fire. Accompanying them were several Dornish soldiers. One of the guards was a giant of a man with silver hair and a great axe. Another was equally as tall, bald and dark skinned and the fierce face of a warrior, a halberd rested on his shoulder.

As Fausten took his spear off his back, the Dornish warriors, Oberyn included raised their weapons. Fausten stuck the cross blade into the ground and sat cross legged between the boxes. He removed his helmet and placed it in front of him. Oberyn and Doran both climbed off of their horses, the latter with much more difficulty. In contrast to his strong younger brother, Doran seemed weak, older than he was. Doran unclipped his belt, handing his curved sword to one of his guards. Oberyn however kept his spear, raising the tip towards Fausten's face.

"You have come here alone red phoenix, this is both admirable and foolish," the prince said.

"From what I understand we have that in common," Fausten retorted.

"Where are your men?" Doran asked.

"Fifty men waiting at the docks, all of them ready for a fight. But this is not our intention coming here my princes. You have all seen the horrors of this war, villages burned to the ground, the thousands of bodies piled on the battlefields, the orphans that have been made, and the children that have been taken from their parents. Aerys is dead, so is his son, Viserys will have fled by now, the Targaryens are no longer the dominant force in Westeros."

"Robert Baratheon has declared himself king, now I know, out of all the forces in Westeros, Dorne can carry on the fight. You could support Viserys, or declare yourselves the new lords of the seven kingdoms, you have a loose blood connection just as Robert has. Dorne could continue the fight for years if need be, and the war would continue, more orphans would be made and more children would be taken from their parents. I have come here to ask you to reconsider this."

Fausten remained sat as Oberyn circled him. Taking a moment to look at his spear.

"So this is the weapon that brought down Tywin's mad dog, the Mountain, whom murdered my sister, raped her, killed her children. Do you expect us to be grateful for taking away out vengeance?" Oberyn asked.

"No, nor do I think you would be grateful for me saving your life by killing him," Fausten said.

"Please explain this!"

"I've seen what vengeance does to a man. Revenge can be a double edged sword, it can bring justice and closure, but sometimes it can degrade a person, turn them irreversibly into everything they hate in the world. You would seek revenge Oberyn, perhaps not now, not even a year, but a decade's time perhaps. Years of pent up rage, of the need to kill the evil man who butchered your beloved sister."

"You would not only seek this man, but those who commanded him. It would be justice, but justice has to mean something, it has to be in the presence of others. So eventually you challenge the Mountain, just you and him, single combat. Now you are a good fighter Oberyn, but rage can cloud a mind. That poisoned spear of yours will kill him, slowly, agonisingly, the way you want it to be. But it isn't enough, so you question him, demand he confess, demand he tell you who gave the order."

"You'll demand he speak her name, demand it, or hunt him through all seven hells. And thought dying, he'll surprise you with that monstrous strength of his. Yes Oberyn you would have fought very bravely, and in a way probably would have avenged your sister, but you still would have died. Your death would have created ripples, your lovers, your children, they would demand revenge and thus seek it. In their rage they would become the kind of people who hated, the people who would murder children because they share an enemies name. Revenge is a cycle of bloodshed my princes, you kill your enemy for revenge, then their loved ones will kill you for revenge."

"No one cared about the Mountain, no one will care about Amory Loch, but Tywin Lannister? Robert Baratheon? Seeking revenge against these two will lead to war, a war that will go on for generations, let us end it here my princes, let the Mountain's death be enough, let Amory Loch's life be enough," Fausten twisted his head a little, a subtle gesture to the cargo box.

Doran nodded to the axe wielding giant. The man used his axe to crack open the box. A man suddenly rolled out of the box, coated in piss and shit. He had bruises from beatings, and burns from the sun. But still he was recognised as Amory Loch, murderer of Rhaenys.

"He stabbed the girl twenty times, perhaps more in the same place, do with him as you will," Fausten didn't hide the anger in his eyes.

The Dornish men seized Loch, striking him several times before throwing him onto the back of a horse. Doran looked at the other boxes, already knowing what they were. His beloved sister, her children, and their uncle Lewyn Martell, a kings guard killed at the Trident.

"My ship also holds the bodies of all the Dornish men killed at the Trident. If you call off hostilities, Robert will have the prisoners returned unharmed. I managed to convince him that witnessing you bend the knee is foolish, an end to the war is all we need," Fausten explained.

"You are right, we've all suffered too much from this war, Doran said, much to his brother's outrage. "It is true Oberyn, I will not have my daughter and sons suffer through more war, to have to bury us both before our time, or worse, those whom committed this atrocity are gone, or will be gone," Doran looked over at Loch as he said this.

Again Oberyn aimed his spear at Fausten. The lord of the Amells looked directly at Oberyn's blade without fear.

"If killing me will take you a step closer to peace Prince Oberyn, then do so, do so and know that my son and daughter and our friends, will not try to take revenge," Fausten said.

He raised his head further, giving Oberyn a view of his neck. Oberyn grit his teeth together, tempted, that rage inside him boiled. But then he felt something else, something that calmed his heart. Respect, respect for this man of empathy, this man of true honour. It was rare in this game of thrones. Oberyn would not be the one to destroy it. He was unbowed, unbent and not yet broken by vengeance. He threw his spear into the ground, crossing it with Fausten's. Then he helped the man up, kissing his hands.

"Thank you for bringing our brothers, fathers and sons home, thank you for giving our sister and her children justice. We will remain part of the seven kingdoms, there will be no further war, but Robert Baratheon must never set foot on Dorne," Oberyn explained.

"This we both agree on," Fausten said.

They shook hands and departed in respect. But deep down inside, Fausten knew that at least one of the brothers still had vengeance in his heart.

'And how could he not?' he wondered.

He lied of course, if Oberyn had killed him, nothing would have stopped his family from seeking swift vengeance. That was the tragedy of revenge, it never truly ended.

* * *

Stannis's pursuit of the Targaryen survivors failed, but they were driven towards the eastern islands. With Robert on the throne, rule of the Baratheon ancestral home Storm's end was given to Robert's youngest brother Renly, barely old enough himself to rule. Stannis was made lord of Dragonstone, a tradition for the heir to the throne, though many in court whispered it was a punishment. A fortnight after the war had officially ended, Robert made good on his promise to marry Cersei Lannister. In the Sept of Baelor, Robert was married to Cersei, she was crowned queen. Her face was bright, but one could say she smiled a true smile for the last time that day.

A tourney was hosted in celebration of the wedding. Numerous flags flew over the numerous tents that had been set up. There were jugglers, fire breathers, men on stilts. And of course wine, being drunk by lord and lady alike. Robert himself seemed to have taken a whole barrel for himself, constantly asking his horn shaped cup to be refilled. He enjoyed both the wine and the fighting, rarely looking at Cersei. Knights from all across the seven kingdoms came to compete.

"Look at these bastards, most of them haven't been in real fights," Ulrich said.

The ginger haired man hadn't been drinking, he didn't drink...wine!

"Bowing, parrying, riding atop their horses and waiting for that moment to tilt their lances, that's not real fighting," he continued to rant, looking at the knights passing him by with disdain.

"You know I'm competing right?" Darius asked.

"And?"

Despite the insult Darius laughed and smiled as always. He raised his arms, allowing his squire, an elf boy to attach the plates of armour to his suit.

"The charms of the west seem completely lost on you my friend," he said.

"Don't tell me you actually like it here," Ulrich shook his head.

"The beautiful summer, the wine, the lavish wealth without listening to Orlesians talking, and the women, what more could a man want?"

"There are a great many things different men want, we can't simply define what is wanted," Ulrich retorted.

"My friend, once we settle in the Meadow, we'll be important people. I'll be an anointed knight, the mightiest warrior of that land who represents us in the arena. Byran will be captain of the guard, Stone the master of arms, Bella the equivalent of a Maestar and Stork the key secretary," Darius explained.

"I see and what will I be?" Ulrich asked.

"Our lord's personal arse kisser," Darius broke off into a laugh as Ulrich threw the bread he had been holding.

Darius's squire fasted the breast plate to Darius's chest. He then attached an additional plate that would shield the left half of Darius's face. Flexing his fingers and kicking his legs, Darius clicked the cricks out of his neck and turned to Ulrich.

"So my friend, how do I look?" he asked.

"Like a knight who couldn't make it jousting in Orlais," Ulrich said.

Again Darius laughed, picking up his helmet as his squire prepared the horse. Darius's horse was a white mare, and had been with his since his days as a wanderer in Thedas. The knight's smile only deepened as Fausten walked through the camp.

"I didn't think you would be taking part," Fausten said.

"Where else may I prove myself and serve House Amell, what will our words be?" Darius asked.

"Our actions will speak louder than our words!"

"That won't do at all my lord, every house in Westeros needs words, I can think of none finer than 'strength in unity'. I'm glad you asked me to come with you Fausten," Darius said.

"I'm glad you made the choice to come my friend," Fausten smiled as he patted Darius's shoulder. "I don't think I could have fought as well as I did in this war, if I didn't have you, Ulrich and Byran with me," he explained.

"Oh you would have fought well, the battle would have been even more difficult without us, but you still would have won. I'm sure even without us Robert would have won the throne, but thank you for the expectations my friend!"

Darius turned to leave, but stopped, turning to Fausten.

"Do you know what that was?" he asked him.

"What?" Fausten raised his eyes in confusion.

"A bonding moment, I become just that little more likable, I'd best be careful, if this were a book something will probably go wrong in the joust and I'll die," Darius laughed as he continued onwards.

His first opponent was a hedge knight. After two passes, Darius brought the man off of his horse. People applauded the smiling knight, he flipped his visor back and bowed his head to the king and queen. The cheers grew much louder when Jamie Lannister beat a knight from the vale. Fausten clapped his hands as both men bowed respectfully and rode in opposite directions. It warmed his heart to see such respect.

Tourneys were not for nothing, they honed the skills of warriors. Though not all of Fausten's companions felt that. Byran was walking around the competitor tents, searching for someone. Unlike most of the knights, he continued to wear the dull, dark, but practical clothes from his commoner origins. A pair of brothers suddenly blocked his path. He guessed they were brothers because of the similar structure of their faces. The shorter and fatter one had smaller eyes though, whilst his brother at least looked more like a fighter. They were Freys, judging by the Sigil on their coats.

"Can I help you?" Byran asked.

"You're the man who fought Barristan the bold to a draw aren't you?" the fat man asked. "I'm Ryman Frey, this is my brother Hosteen."

"Yes I did fight Barristan, now what do you want?"

"What are you to the Amells?" Hosteen asked.

"A shield, a sword, a friend, depends on the situation really, I'm just a man with a particular set of skills, skills that make me a nightmare for people that would seek rivalry with Fausten and his family. I assume you have a problem with them yes?"

"Our father has the problem, not us," Hosteen said.

"Let me guess, he's heard Revka is unmarried and wants one of his sons to be wed to her, or one of his children to marry one of Revka's children, or maybe he wants all three marriages right?"

"Our father seeks an alliance with House Amell, to be joined as family," Ryman said.

"I've met your father, I know he gets a lot of disrespect for missing the trident, I actually think he was pretty smart to buy his time. And I'm sure whichever one of the hundred children he has in mind to wed into the Amell family is a good person, I would wait to pass judgement. Unfortunately your father has already proven he's an unpleasant man. People don't hate him for his numerous marriages, his charging to pass through the twins or his maintaining of safety by staying in those towers. No, they don't hate him for this at all, what they do hate him for is his unpleasantness because he is unpleasant," Byran explained.

"Basically your father is a complete and utter cunt and that's why people hate him, and why you'll never see an Amell wed a Frey," a voice said behind the Freys.

Ryman and Hosteen turned to whom insulted their father. But both froze, seeing Ulrich standing behind them. Byran was a curiosity to them, Ulrich however utterly terrified them.

"We hope Lord Amell will change his mind," Hosteen said.

"He won't, trust me," Ulrich said, grinning at the men as they rushed to get away from them.

Once they were out of sight, Byran rolled his eyes.

"You're sure Fausten wont marry Dayla or Revion to a Frey?" Byran asked.

They remained silent, looking at one another for a moment. Then they laughed at the absurdity of it all.

"He'll need us now more than ever, do you think he'll invite Aristide?" Ulrich asked.

"If he does Aristide will not accept, not if it takes him further away from his daughter. Leandra, who would have thought she would have a mage lover?"

"Fate it seems would have her go to Ferelden, the very place Daylen is staying!"

Both men continued walking through the camp, finding a solitary tent with no markings. Whoever it belonged to was at the tourney already. Ulrich and Byran went back to the joust, just in time to witness Darius being knocked off of his horse by a knight in old armour. When the knight pulled off his helmet, he revealed to the crowd that he was Damion Amell, or at least a man who looked like him. He didn't look at his father, or the king and queen, his eyes were empty and showed none of the enthusiasm he had when fighting in the rebellion. Nor did he convey any of the bravado over his victories that the other knights did.

A sadness swept over Fausten's eyes, looking at the man in front of him, fearing for what his son might become. When Damion reached the finals, to the shock of the nobility, he was matched against the king slayer. Both young men sat atop their horses, facing one another. Damion's horse black, Jamie's white, their armour opposites of one another. Jamie's was a fine gold, expensive and adorned with the lion of his house. Damion's by contrast was cheap and old, a dull grey, but well maintained.

'Maker, please bring my son back to me,' Fausten thought.

They charged, both galloping at full speed. Damion thrust his lance forward, dragging against the side of Jamie's. He hit Jamie's shield, but Jamie struck his shoulder, the tip of his lance breaking. In the next pass, Jamie retrieved a new lance and thrust it at the same time Damion did. He put Damion's lance off target, and struck Damion's shield. Fausten took a deep breath, his shoulders tense as the knights passed each other again. Their lances didn't hit targets this time.

'My son, your horse is too powerful, you're moving too fast, your rage clouds your vision. The lance, just like the spear and the arrow, requires accuracy,' Fausten analysed the fight, seeing but one clear winner.

They charged and thrust their lances forward. Both their lances shattered, Damion struck Jamie's shield and the King slayer struck him. He did not fall off of his horse. The King slayer was declared champion, but Damion's record of losing on his horse was untarnished.

* * *

All had been celebrated, but when the Amell family went northward, they found a dark land awaiting them. The Meadow was a land of hills and fields, fields unkempt and uncared for and hills with only decrepit houses and huts on them. Fausten stood at the front of his people, the people who followed him from Kirkwall, whom followed him when the mad king burned down their villages, and those who simply came to believe in him. There were also those who once lived on the land owned by the Freys.

"What a shit hole," Ulrich muttered.

"We can make it right," Fausten said.

Revka held in her arms her twins, Dayla and Revion, the symbols of the new start in Westeros. Already black strands of hair were growing on Revion's scalp, Dayla's however had fairer hair. Both twins possessed the blue eyes of the Amell family, eyes that almost glowed at times. Fausten took Dayla from her and held her up high, drawing laughter from the baby girl's lips.

"Welcome home, my grandchildren, welcome home, my people...or perhaps you do not yet see this place as your home," Fausten said.

He gave Dayla to Bella and turned to the people, his people now. Fausten removed his gloves, and his spear from his back. He cut his hand, letting the people see his blood. It showed just how serious his oath would be.

"I will build a home for us, this I swear! And now it begins!"

Next Chapter 5: Five years

* * *

I hope everyone enjoyed the chapter.

When I thought of Fausten's human lieutenants I thought of actors they would be physically based on.

Ser Byran: Liam Neeson

Ser Ulrich: Tony Curran

Ser Darius: James Purefoy

Next time shows a time skip, and we finally go to Daylen in the tower.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I don't own Game of Thrones or Dragon Age

My longest chapter yet

* * *

House Amell of Westeros

Chapter 5: Five years

 _My beloved Day_

 _By the time this letter reaches you, we will hopefully have gained, if not a home, a new place to live. One that does not remind us of the pain that the Chantry brought us. Essos was a beautiful place, but not an ideal place for us to form our land. Westeros was the place where opportunity was present. Your grandfather does not relish war, but he understands that some houses are made from it._

 _When we arrived in Westeros, a civil war had begun. 'Civil' I always wondered who coined these names, there's nothing civil about countrymen fighting one another. But sadly they do, one lord demands the head of another. In the case of this Westeros war, it seems that the ruling family, the Targaryen's days are numbered. It began because of two events._

 _First there was the tourney at Harrenhal. They said that land was cursed, Damion was inclined to believe it. Oh, Damion was unhorsed in the first round, but people admired his enthusiasm. Your grandfather still jousts very well, he was the second runner up, losing to Barristan Selmy, a good warrior as old as your grandfather, and commander of the kings guard._

 _The winner of the tourney was Prince Rhaegar Targaryen. He was the next in line to the throne, eldest son of his father King Aerys. I'm not familiar with Westeros family lines, but he wasn't the 'first of his name' as they say here. Rhaegar looks like a hero from a story book, handsome, pure white hair, and he fought so well. Then again, who knows if any of the knights who faced the prince really fought him at their best, he is the heir to the throne after all._

 _Everyone was smiling as their prince rode down the line of noble women, ready to gift one of them with a crown of flowers. He rode straight past his wife and gave it to a girl named Lyanna Stark. I spoke with both Elia and Lyanna before the tourney. Elia seems a good woman, a good wife, undeserving of the insult that Rhaegar committed. Lyanna, her I liked, she was like the wolf on her family's heraldry. Unfortunately she was promised to Robert Baratheon, a strapping and handsome man, but a complete and utter bastard whom doesn't deserve her._

 _For a while we thought nothing would happen. But then Rhaegar took Lyanna, most say she was kidnapped, but only those two know the truth. This insult to Robert Baratheon, resulted in great tragedy. The Stark heir, Brandon, rode to the capital, kings landing and demanded that Aerys turn over Lyanna and Rhaegar. Aerys had Brandon thrown in the dungeon, and called lord Rickard Stark to swear fealty. He went to Kings landing, but both Rickard and Brandon were executed, in the worst way possible._

 _Now Westeros is at war, a war in which we have taken the side of the seemingly most injured party, the Starks. I pray that by the time this letter reaches you, the war will have ended._

 _With all the love in my heart, and all my prayers and hopes_

 _Stay safe my pride and joy_

 _Your mother_

* * *

Irving smiled as the child read the letter. So young and reading, slowly, but he understood the words and what his mother was telling him. Daylen slid off of the chair, taking care not to trip on his robes as he folded up the letter and said thank you to Irving. He then walked off and returned to his studies. The boy crossed paths with Greagoir on his way out, the smile fading as he lowered his head.

"Westeros, the accursed land of extended seasons," Greagoir mused.

"Some would call a longer summer a blessing of the maker," Irving said.

"Whilst the folk who don't live in castles, would call a longer and colder winter a curse, no wonder they don't prey to the maker there," the Knight-Commander huffed as he took a seat.

"Still, this war in Westeros troubles me, the Amells are a noble family, truly worthy of the term, I would hate to see them destroyed trying to gain favour, from a war that isn't theirs," Irving explained.

Greagoir removed his gloves as he took a seat. Irving poured them both cups of water, and the two leaders, one of mages, the other of the knights that protected them, chatted as equals. Often they disagreed and argued, but there was a great respect and friendship between them. Irving told him about the letter, its contents and what was happening in Westeros.

"Most wars start because of the actions of a few, a few perceived insults from lords, and then young men are commanded to protect their honour, to die to protect it," Greagoir made no attempt to hide his disapproval.

"You believe this war is the fault of the Stark girl and the Prince?" Irving asked.

"Don't tell me you're not of the opinion that those two fell in love," Greagoir said.

"One side says that Rhaegar kidnapped and raped the girl, the other side says that they're traitors, whilst that same side presents a legitimate reason to want to replace the king. I have not known Revka Amell to be a liar, articulate," Greagoir snorted, making Irving shake his head before continuing. "Proud, and passionate, but not a liar, she said that Aerys executed the Starks 'in the worst way possible' I don't know what horrors there are in Westeros, but it must have been truly terrible indeed if she would write so in the letter."

Greagoir took a sip of his water, thinking for a moment. He recalled what Chantry pilgrims told him of the lands in the West.

"Slavery in the lands east of Westeros, no mages, unless you count the eastern pretenders and the fire worshippers with their tricks. There is apparently a wall of ice, though there are no mages there is clearly magic, as beyond that wall it is eternally winter. In the mountainous regions are Shadowcats, black and white furred beasts, bigger than house cats but smaller than lions," the Knight-Commander explained, counting down with his fingers. "I heard the Targaryens once possessed dragons yes?"

"A three headed dragon is their seal, I think their words are 'blood and steel' though I'm not a hundred percent sure," Irving said.

"Fire and blood," Greagoir said, as if presenting an answer.

Then Irving thought, and shivered.

"Fire, there are worse ways, but any way to die is horrible," he said.

"Of that we agree Irving, of that we agree," Greagoir finished his drink and sighed. "What troubles you about this war so far away?" he asked.

"I'm no expert in war, whilst some mages fought for Maric's rebellion I remained here. Maric had the advantage of being the rightful heir to the throne, the Targaryens have ruled Westeros for many ages. They have been the name behind the throne, remove that name and you will have a pretender to it, someone who took the throne by force. Even if they have a loose blood connection, they'll still be nothing more than a pawn to whoever puts them on the throne. The people care not which name is behind the throne, they only want protection, continuity of government and just treatment. Noble families on the other hand;

"Even with an end to the war, it won't be an end to hostilities. Each family has fought against the other. Which means you're going to have quite a few grudges, losers bitter over the victors, fathers despising those who took their sons from them. Then there is of course the politics behind it, families rushing to marry one another, to get that one step closer to the royal court. If Robert Baratheon is as much a bastard as Revka said, he'll make the life of whichever woman, Lyanna or another poor lady, a nightmare because he is in a position of power, and he does whatever he wants;

"This is a warrior, once a warrior gets what they want, two things happen. One; the king starts to want more, he starts to crave an empire, which means expansion, which means more war. Two; he gets fat and lazy, hunts and sleeps with many women, abandons ruling his kingdom to men who will continually be competing with one another for that top spot."

"Much like the game in Orlais," Greagoir muttered.

"The Orlesian game, as described by that unpleasant iron woman, is one of nobles trying to one up each other. They want to embarrass one another, shame, even kill each other, most of the time just for the sheer hell of it, there is no real purpose behind it," Irving explained.

"Is that really how First Enchanter Vivienne described it?"

"No not really, she glorifies it, she's more Orlesian now than Free Marcher."

"At least she doesn't have the accent," Greagoir said, and both men chuckled.

"No, this game is less one of intrigue and entertainment, it's more like a...a," Irving stroked the patch of hair on his chin, his eyes narrow in deep thought.

"A game of thrones!"

Greagoir nodded his head in agreement, partly admiring the poetry in Irving's voice. But disapproving of the politics behind the western nation. They forgot the west and focused on the centre of their world, the circle. There were still politics there, but the insults were less veiled and the threats were less clandestine. Uldred and his libertarians had made some loud protests about Prince Cailan's birthday celebrations and his insistence on having mages show off there. Some of Greagoir's men had to use some smites to calm them down, Uldred and his ring leaders were put in the cells. Wynn and one of Greagoir's men broke up a fight between some of the apprentices, no fireballs were involved but she had to heal some bruises. A boy called Owainwas loud about threats to escape, and the latest recruits had been caught going to a brothel.

"I'll discipline the recruits, you chat with Owain," Greagoir suggested.

"Owain is young and angry, I'll try but I can't promise he'll listen to me," Irving said.

"Do your best, remind him what happens if he persists."

"What about Uldred?" Irving asked.

"I think another few days in the stockade should simmer him down ," Greagoir said.

Irving nodded, hesitantly, but still in agreement.

* * *

 _My grandson Daylen_

 _I hope you are doing well with your studies, I'm looking forward to the day I see you as a master of your own power._

 _The war in Westeros is over, now comes the clean up however. A new king is being declared, a new queen too, though perhaps not the queen he liked._

 _You will recall in your mother's last letter that Robert Baratheon was promised to Lyanna Stark. Tragically Lyanna Stark has died, I know not the details, but it has repaired the friendship of Robert and Ned._

 _Wait, you didn't explain to him about Eddard, oh Revka what is wrong with you? He needs to know the complete story._

 _Ned Stark is the new lord of the North, his brother and father were killed by the mad king Aerys. He's Robert Baratheon's best friend, as close as brothers. Though I doubted that brotherhood would survive when kings landing was sacked. We defeated the crown at the battle of the Trident, and moved onto the capital. But when we got there, it had already been sacked by the Lannisters._

 _The Lannisters had remained seemingly neutral until the decisive battle of the trident. It is clear to me that Tywin Lannister the sneaky bastard that he is, waited until one side was weak before he picked one. Aerys opened the gates and Tywin's men sacked the city. Unfortunately, Elia Martell and her children are dead. Murdered by men who call themselves knights._

 _Amory Loch and Greigor Clegane, the latter is a mountain of a man. When I met them, I wanted to rip them in half. I even offered myself to fight as champion in their trial by combat. Though I killed the Mountain, in Robert's eyes, that man had done right. Eddard didn't see it that way. They shouted, spoke unkind words to one another and Ned left to save his sister. He took her body back to the North._

 _Aerys is dead, killed by those who once swore to protect him, a fitting end to a mad king. Indeed mad he was, but I remember a better man, because of the king, I cannot that mourn that man. Robert has married Tywin Lannister's daughter, Cersei and a new age has apparently begun. The age of the Baratheon dynasty._

 _But there were still stragglers from the dragons. One by one their loyalists have sworn fealty to Robert. Aerys's wife is still alive, so too is his youngest son. I pray they do not meet the same fate as Elia Martell._

 _But enough of that, very unpleasant business it is. This letter should be joyful, your mother has married a young lord, a good man, for a westerner. Damion has been recognised as a knight, Sir Damion, he hasn't stopped reminding everyone. Old man Stone is as grumpy as ever._

 _Well you are grumpy Stone, you were grumpy when we fought the children of the damned in Nevarra, you were grumpy when we liberated those elves in Tevinter, you were even grumpy when your wife gave birth to two beautiful children and you're grumpy now._

 _Yes, yes you have good reason to be grumpy, but I've been reminding those pricks not to make fun of you for your height, which hasn't won me a lot of friends._

 _Wait a minute...Stork! Are you writing down_ _ **everything**_ _I'm saying._

 _No you don't have to edit it, it's my grandson he might appreciate the humour... could you stop writing for a moment...right now, I...seriously STOP WRITING DOWN WHAT I'M SAYING!_

 _With lots of love and hugs and kisses_

 _Well who else would it be from Stork?_

 _Your grandfather Fausten Amell_

* * *

Daylen didn't laugh, but he did have a warm and genuine smile. One that in turn made Jowan smile. The younger boy gave the letter back to Greagoir, whom was holding a candle.

"Thank you," he said.

"Now sleep child, you may compose a reply if you wish tomorrow," Greagoir said.

He walked down the corridor of beds, shut the door behind him and left them in darkness. Through it, Jowan spotted Daylen tucking himself into bed, continuing to smile as he slept.

* * *

 _Beloved Day_

 _I write this letter with the most important news. You have two younger siblings, twins, a brother and a sister, both beautiful and healthy. I have given them both the name Day, as their very existence has brought me the same joy yours did. The girl is Dayla, for she is so beautiful, and the boy is Revion, quiet, not as loud as you were as a babe._

 _Second most important piece of news, the war in Westeros is over. The reign of Robert Baratheon, first of his name, Lord of the Andals and the first men, king of the seven kingdoms and protector of the realm, has truly begun. You're probably thinking, my gosh there are so many titles, well I believed that too, just stick to king that's what I prefer._

 _For our service to Robert we have been granted lordship of the Meadow. It is a small piece of land which includes a grand hilltop, country side and Woodsher forest, a grand place if ever there was one. The land borders the north, yet we are not Bannermen to Lord Stark. Even so, father has maintained a strong friendship with Lord Stark, whom has sought father's advice quite often. He is a young man still, the war has made him hard, but he seems fair._

 _Lord Eddard, or Ned as his friends calls him, is married to Catelyn Tully of the Riverlands. He has been dutiful to her, though the North follow the old gods, he built a small alter for her to worship the seven. She has done her duty as a wife, giving him a son he has named Robb. But Ned has another son, Jon, sadly any respect I have for Catelyn has faded, because of the way she looks at this child._

 _Damion has begun to journey across Westeros, just as father did across the marches. He seeks to improve himself as a warrior, and to fight for the innocent. My little brother wants to be a hero, he still has those dreams from childhood. There's nothing wrong with dreams Daylen, remember that._

 _All of my love is with you Daylen_

 _Your mother Revka_

* * *

Revka smiled as she folded up her letter, stamped the Amell seal over it and wrapped a blue ribbon around it. She marched up to the refuge, where a single hawk was resting.

"Garret," she clicked her fingers together, drawing the hawk out of its sleep.

His yellow eyes blinked, head turning to look at his surroundings. When Revka drew closer he moved his head to her hand, but stopped as she raised her finger. She moved her hand again, and his beak opened.

"Ah, Ah, AH, no!" she said sharply. "No Garret, first take the letter, now pay attention Garret, take the letter to our man in the old town docks. By the time you get there he will be waiting, if not, wait for him, and don't let anyone else see the letter. Also, wait for his treat as well, you impatient little hawk."

She tied the letter to his talon and opened the palm of her hand. He quickly picked up the seeds she was holding, spread his wings and flew out of the hole in the wall. Outside the castle, the towns folk watched the hawk fly majestically over the land, but then he began to soar faster than any raven other families in Westeros used. Revka soon walked out of the hall, the home of the Amells was no great castle, but it was their home now.

"Ah Lady Revka, shall there be a feast marking the celebration?" a fat, pot bellied man asked her.

"I don't know Tom, is that piss you serve worth dragging up to the hall?" Revka asked back, drawing a laugh from a few of Tom's regular customers.

Tom was the owner of the pub, the 'Howling wolf'. He had lived on the lands since they were owned by former Targaeryan loyalists, they Freys. Of the Freys he said:

"Too many of them, and the old cunt they call their lord just won't fucking die!"

Revka had met Walder Frey, so she shared Tom's opinion completely. He actually tried to weasel into a marriage alliance between them, any first born child of hers to one of his children. Thankfully Fausten refused, knowing Revka would use her own choice of words to reject the man's offer. She walked across the muddy road of the Meadow, saying hello to the towns folk she passed. When she reached the stables, she curtsied to the horse master.

"I'm not a lord mi lady," the bearded and muscular man said.

"But you are the master of horses Roland," Revka smiled, taking the reins of the black horse Roland held.

Putting on her riding gloves, she climbed onto the horse and rode out to the field. There, men, women, young and old, elves and dwarves worked the fields, and Revka joined them. One couldn't tell her apart from any other commoner, except for the respect in the eyes of those who worked with her. She picked and planted, working for as long as the other workers did. When she was finished she walked with them to the farmer's stable.

"How are those beautiful babes of yours Revka?" a brown haired woman asked her.

"Dayla has been a darling, Revion however is being a bit of a shit at the moment, how are yours Sarah?"

"He's begun volunteering with father Thomas, building that monstrosity your father insists on, no offence," Sarah explained.

"No offence taken, I completely agree, what about the girl Laura?"

"Stupid she is, stupidly in love."

"Who's the lucky boy?"

"Unlucky if I ever catch him with her, Dan Snow, bastard's been desperate to get his own bastard, just last week Roland nearly bashed his head in, he was trying to get his daughter to clean his bald man," Sarah explained, drawing a laugh from Revka.

"She's a bright girl, and you're a tough woman, I'm sure you'll wise her up before he gets his hands on her," Revka said.

They presented the harvest to the man in charge of it, an elf formerly from the Free marches. Leto was a friend of Fausten, his daughter was one of Revka's hand maidens and his wife was the nurse for her children.

"Now Revka, I can forgive the sloppiness because you haven't long recovered from labour, but I thought cravings went away after pregnancy," he held up a chewed up carrot, drawing laughs from the workers gathered. "Finish it next time all right?"

"As you command master Leto," Revka curtsied, again drawing laughs from a few men.

"I'm not a lord!"

"But you are master of the field," Revka said before she walked away.

Climbing onto her horse, Revka rode over the hilltop, enjoying the view of the river, and the distant view of the northern lands. She pushed the steed into a gallop at full speed, enjoying the rush of the wind over her face. It was freedom, not just the ride, but being able to work the fields, chatting with the towns people and those whom lived on the surrounding land. Revka matched speed with a carriage, one carrying linens and tapestries.

"Off somewhere David?" she asked the rider.

"To Highgarden Lady Amell, Gaston here is joining me for protection, and to pay back his debt," David said.

The young armoured man next to him smiled nervously at Revka.

"You do as David says Gaston, do you remember the golden rule?" Revka asked.

"I remember the golden rule Miss Revka," he said.

"No second chances!" the three of them said.

Revka wished them both good luck, and rode back to the Amell hall. She went to her children's room, where Anya, the farmer's wife cradled the boy in her arms. Revka took the child from her, kissing his forehead, letting him play with the strands of her hair. She then put him in the crib with her sister, and stroked them both with her fingers.

"Dayla, Revion, you are both my little joys, let me tell you about your namesakes, and your big brother Daylen."

* * *

 _Beloved grandson_

 _I'm writing the letter myself this time. Stork is a good scribe, he's far better than I am at writing. But I felt it right to do this letter myself. I imagine speaking to you, and I hope you laugh when I say something rightly humorous, and do not laugh when I say something of importance._

 _As your study, I too learn of this new land, a land that seems set against my way of thinking. Just the other day in the land of Ironwrath, the lands of the Forresters, I sat with, ate and engaged in good conversation with the lord Gregor. He's a good man, at least as good as an imperfect world allows him to be. I say this because as we walked across his land, he witnessed a thief stealing. This was no brute of a man, no evil man, I have known evil men in my travels. No, this was a man who needed to feed his children, so he did what was necessary._

 _But he got caught, and Gregor cut his hand off. A waste in my opinion._

 _I wonder what is the right way to rule?_

 _Another time, I visited the lands of the North, the lands of one Lord Bolton. No a reasonable man, and an evil man. He and others may think differently but I see him for what he is. The man has a bastard, but that isn't why, it's how the bastard came to be that makes the man evil. I met his mother, a woman ignored in the streets. I gave her food in exchange for truth, though I'm no expert at lies, Stork himself is very good at spotting it._

 _This woman once loved a man. A man she married, but she did not have Roose's permission. He hung her love and took her as he swung from the tree. There was no hatred in her eyes, just emptiness, this was what she knew. This man murdered her love, and then gave her a child, how is this ordinary behaviour? How is this the action of a man who rules?_

 _Then, I hear of the king. His Sigel is the stag, thus, a stag is an animal that belongs to him. These creatures, put on this Earth by the maker, they should be monitored by the crown, but not owned by it. It should not be a crime to feed one's family with what is fairly hunted._

 _If you're building for the future, then you must make your foundation strong. Laws of the land enslave the people, to a king who demands loyalty but offers nothing in return. I've been across the Free marches, to Orlais, to the far west and east, and even to the lands of the Qunari. It is in my travels that I have learned that you build a land from the ground up, as you would a chantry._

 _Westeros may be the king's, but I am lord of the Meadow._

Fausten and Damion stood proudly, in as dirty clothes as the people they served. They leant against shovels and sickles, after a hard day's work on the field.

"By royal decree, I name Fausten Amell and those of his family as lords and ladies of the Meadow, the forest and the black river," Fausten read the letter he held, and then cast it aside. "King Robert has named me a lord, which means I'll speak with the lord, and I will protect my people. There will be laws, of which I will inform you of those laws. But this is not my land alone, it is not my children's land alone. It is your land, farmer, tailor, soldier, hunter, it is your land and your home. Human, elf or dwarf, man or woman, high born or lowborn, you are each lords of your own houses. Though there will be laws, this land, my land, your land, will follow four principles;"

 _No one, should stay poor so that another can get rich. A man is entitled to the sweat of his brow, so long as it does not keep another poor. So long as he fairly and rightly pays those he employs, if one simply leaves another to do the work, then they have not truly earned their fortune._

 _No one should tell another what he should live for, or what he should die for. Man or woman, one must fight only if they need to, to protect what is there's. To protect their home, not the pride of a lord._

 _What someone puts in the ground, is there's to keep, for their family, for their loved ones. No one should take it away. The people should not harvest so that a lord can get fat. They need to eat, if you do not want thieves, let them grow and hunt, only guide them when the ground is barren or livestock is endangered._

 _Finally, and most importantly of all. Each and every man and woman, was free from their first breath. No one should be forced to serve another. Service is a choice, duty is a choice, not a birthright._

"This will be how we run our land, reap what you sow, love whom you wish, pursue your fortunes wherever you believe they are, you do not need my permission for this. Because this, is our land. Now let's get to work!" Fausten said, raising up his shovel and leading his people to the field.

 _It was you Daylen, my pride and joy, whom inspired these laws._

 _With love_

 _Your grandfather Fausten_

* * *

Daylen read the letter, with a sense of wonder, and joy. But then he looked at where he was, crumbled the letter up, and put it into his sleeve. Every few days Daylen came to the monastery, where people prayed to the maker as part of the chant of light. Not to pray of course, Daylen had never prayed in his life. He wasn't someone who believed in all powerful gods, even at his age. He looked and felt younger than he was, walking away from the Chantry and to his next lesson. Men in full armour filled every hall, their silver armour and red and gold robes. They were the army of the Chantry, the templar order, the flaming sword of their order adorned on their chests.

"Magic exists to serve man, not rule over him', can anyone tell me what that quote means?" one of the teachers asked.

Every teacher was a mage, a prisoner in a word. They had grown up in the circle, their teachers had grown up in the circle, and so on and so forth for as long as the circle had existed. Daylen remained silent as Keili, a brown haired girl gleefully quote from the chant. He'd barely been paying attention when the Enchanter stood over him.

"Daylen, perhaps you could beguile us with what you believe this quote means," she said.

A few of the other children laughed as Daylen put a finger to his chin, closed his eyes and thought about it.

"I wasn't there, I can't really say why people chose those exact words, or whether those really are the exact words," Daylen said.

The Enchanter was taken aback by the comment.

"A curious response, do you mean to imply that our history is wrong?" she asked.

"Well we all know that Andraste was burned to death, we all know she fought the Tevinter Imperium to free people from slavery, maybe she did really say that magic exists to serve man, but she was burnt to death so, no one can ask her what she meant by this can they? It's all left to interpretation really," Daylen explained.

"There is only one interpretation, that magic should be used to help people," said one of the children.

"But who gets to decide who deserves help?" Daylen asked.

From a distance, a senior enchanter watched the exchange. She turned to Irving and smiled.

"He comes off as older than he is," she said.

"His magic awakened at such a young age Wynn," Irving said.

"But the manner of magic he used, how many people know about it?" Wynn asked.

"Myself, you, Greagoir and some of the more senior Enchanters and Knight-Captains."

"Does that include Uldred?"

Later that day, Daylen read books with his friend Jowan. The brown haired boy was immersed in his book, a book on the four schools of magic. Daylen himself was reading about the arcane, it covered the use of mana for specific tasks. Most of it was limited to the creation of arcane bolts, arcane fields and the flowing of arcane energy through staffs.

'Why stop at those things though?' Daylen thought, thinking of the other applications.

He closed his eyes and focused, creating an arcane field around him. Jowan stopped reading and looked at Daylen in shock.

"We aren't allowed to practice spells in here," he said.

Daylen concentrated hard on his hand, stretching it outwards. The Arcane bolt required the energy he built up to be released, the arcane field required it to be enveloped around him. One hand to imagine a bubble around their body.

'But why stop at a bubble?' Daylen thought.

In front of his outstretched hand, a disc formed, one of blue energy. He grit his teeth together, feeling his mana drain. The disc disappeared, and a shadow suddenly appeared over Daylen and Jowan.

"You know the rules," their templar guard said. "Do not use your magic, if you lost control for even a moment you could have endangered us all. Go to the chantry and pray on what you've done!"

Daylen stood up and began walking away. He went to the Chantry, but he didn't pray.

* * *

Two years, and like Daylen before them, Revka's children grew fast. They were playing some of the older Westerosi children, games in the mud, pretending to be great heroes fighting against dragons. Revion looked like a true Amell, the same as Damion and Fausten, and most Amell men looked in boyhood. Raven hair, blue eyes, the boy was eager and so full of life. Dayla was a tomboy, tackling bigger boys, her strawberry blonde hair as short as theirs, she never liked it long. As the children played, Revka sat on one of her favourite rocks, putting pen to paper and composing a tale for her distant and beloved son.

 _Recently Daylen, your grandfather was asked to attend a celebration in king's landing. An heir has been born to Cersei Lannister, a mere year after the tragic death of her first child. When that poor raven haired boy died, I feared so much for your brother and sister. I prayed Daylen, for what felt like the first time in years._

 _Cersei was happy when she married Robert. But when next we met, I saw only bitterness. But when she held and looked at that baby, her son by Robert, I could see the great love she was capable of. There is no greater love than the love a parent has for their child. It surpasses love for the gods, it surpasses love for a lover, even the love for your duty and your country. Kirkwall stopped being something I loved, the chant stopped being something I loved, when you were taken from me._

 _I did not tell you this before Daylen, but when the child was born, it was extremely unhealthy. Most believed it would not get through the night. But Bella intervened, she treated the baby, not through prayer but medicine. The boy lived and was named Lyonel Baratheon, after the first Baratheon lord of Storm's end. Bella wished to continue treating the boy, but Jon Arryn refused. I don't know why, some petty political reason. A mere two years later the poor boy died, whatever condition he suffered from caught up with him._

 _Bella this time has been invited to King's landing with your grandfather. To celebrate the birth of the new heir, Joffrey Baratheon._

Revka stopped writing when she felt something tug her dress. She smiled at Dayla, who took her hands and led her to where the children were playing. The woman lifted Revion up by his hands and kissed him on the cheek.

"What are we playing today?" she asked the youths.

"Tag, you it!" the boy said, before breaking off into a run with the other children.

"Oh you, come back here you sneaks," Revka laughed as she ran after them.

* * *

 _Three years in Westeros, by Westeros standards the year is 283 After Conquest. This year has been marked with the birth of Mycella Baratheon. Like her brother Joffrey, she takes after their mother, blonde hair and blue eyes. A lot of people say she will be a great beauty, who knows?_

 _A few months afterwards, your second younger brother was born Day, we've called him Dayk, like his brother he has all the Amell features. My children are blessings, and I save those blessings for you Daylen. Be safe and be happy._

 _With love and my hope_

 _Your ever loving mother_

 _Revka_

As Revka finished her letter, she turned to the crib, where Dayk slept. She looked down at the boy and smiled, adjusting his blanket. Putting on her coat and gloves, she walked out of her room and into the throne room. Her father sat on a modest chair, one he had carved himself in his spare time. It was level with the people who would come to address him. There was a small line of people waiting to see the lord of the Meadow. Both Stork and Stone flanked their friend and lord, the former holding his curved sword, the latter resting on his hammer. The man currently facing her father was a farmer, an elder man who was reaching the end of the days he could work.

"Roylen, what troubles you?" Fausten asked.

"Lord Fausten, with winter not yet over I am in need of the corn I grow in the fields, they're the best thing to fill the pigs you see," the man said, his hands shaking from arthritis.

"Is there a problem with the help I have sent you?"

"The lads are hard workers, one of them even wishes to marry my daughter," a brief smile crossed Roylen's face, before he lowered it.

This was not concern that Fausten saw, it was fear.

"What has happened?" he asked.

"The boys have not come back to us since bandits rode into our field," Roylen said.

"They bore no marks or flag?"

"No mi'lord, they simply rode into our land, intimidated us, and starting picking at our corn. They said they would be back next week for our pigs, they said they would take more and more unless I paid them five sovereigns a week," Roylen explained.

Fausten shook his head, looking towards Stork.

"Get one of your rangers, have him track them and watch the farm for the next few weeks. Roylen, you have worked all your life and have proven a valuable provider for the Meadow, I will do everything within my power to ensure your farm's safety!"

The speech put a smile on Roylen's face, he bowed and thanked Fausten profusely before turning to walk away. Next came a younger man, the age one should be a father. But his hands weren't as weathered or marked as Roylen's would have been at that age.

"Hello Samuel, a complaint?" Fausten asked.

"No my lord, but I do wish to make you aware of a potential problem, I regularly go to a brothel in Winter's breath," Samuel said.

"It's where you met your wife correct?"

"Yes my lord, met my wife, fell in love with my wife and where we sired our son. When the rebellion ended, your new decree enabled me to marry my love. She spent the last years of her life in my house, I go there because, well you see..."

"Part of your wife is there," Fausten assumed and the man nodded his head tearfully.

"The one who owned the Brothel was a reasonable sort before the war, but he lost his sons in Robert's rebellion. That has made him uncaring and lazy, he cares not for the women who work there anymore. I have seen men threaten women there and even hit them, I am afraid it may only be a matter of time before someone dies," Samuel explained.

"I know of a few men who are good in a fight, they enjoy beating down men who pick on the weak. I will speak with the owner, if he does not sober I will convince him to at least accept the employment of these young men," Fausten explained, again drawing a bow and thank you from the man.

Revka moved on, letting her father continue to see to his people. She went outside, where she saw the children playing again. At three years old, they had both wore similar clothing. More and more, Dayla proved herself a tomboy, running with the other boys and playing games of tag with them. Revion was running faster than the rest, ahead of the group. In a way, despite his age, he was already beginning to prove how brilliant he had the potential to be. He could read, but he preferred playing with the other children, he'd studied quickly the moves the guards would perform when practicing. Revka held no doubt that the heir apparent of the Meadow would one day be a great leader.

She held that same faith in Daylen.

* * *

 _Beloved grandson_

 _Every once in a while a leader faces obstacles. They are faced with decisions that, years ago they may have thought themselves incapable of making._

 _But still I keep faith, praying to the Maker gives me a certain comfort. But the Maker will not do everything for me, through prayer I gain strength and reinforce my conviction. Four years, we've come so far in four years, but it hasn't been without obstacles, without having to make difficult choices. Your brother Revion is a smart one, he's asking me if he can go to Winterfell, Casterly rock, Sunspear, Dragonstone and even Highgarden. The boy has such a fondness for learning that I hope you have in the circle. Learn all that you can Daylen, knowledge is but one thing to contribute to power._

 _Dayla has a fire in her, she's Revka's daughter certainly. She wants to be a warrior, has been getting into fights with bigger boys, she keeps disguising herself so that they don't know she's my daughter. People have a reluctance to hitting nobility here, you can lose a hand for it. In my land however, I say, if they're been a bit of a shit, give them a good slap._

* * *

Greagoir and Irving shook their heads, looking at the bruised boy standing before them. Daylen's fists were bruised and he had an unapologetic scowl on his face, that made him look older than he was. Seven years old roughly, if him being Revka's son was to be believed. Greagoir had his doubts however, Irving was more open minded.

"You picked a fight with two apprentices, fully fledged apprentices past their harrowing," Greagoir said.

"I didn't pick a fight, they were picking on some of the new arrivals from the Denerim Alienage," Daylen said.

"Witnesses did confirm that they were speaking with the elves beforehand," Irving said.

"Speaking, they were insulting them Irving, calling them knife ears and trying to frighten them with the tranquillity ritual, one of your own templars was standing right by them and wouldn't do anything," Daylen explained, looking between the Knight-Commander and the First Enchanter.

"Go..."

"To the chantry to pray, I don't need to look at some book I already know," Daylen huffed.

"Don't interrupt me child, and from what the revered mother told me, you've only read through the book once," Greagoir smirked slightly.

"Once is all I needed," Daylen said, there was no smugness in his voice and it took Irving by surprise.

"Fine, recount to me then Threnodies 12:1!"

Greagoir maintained his smirk as Daylen looked away for a moment, holding the distant look he often had when thinking.

"Those who had sought to claim heaven by violence destroyed it. What was golden and pure turned black. Those who had once been mage-lords, the brightest of their age, were no longer men, but monsters!"

Both men looked at Daylen, shocked for a moment, it wasn't a rough recounting, but a word for word repeat.

"What was Andraste's sermon at Valarian fields?" Greagoir asked.

"Transfigurations 10:1, Many are those who wander in sin, despairing that they are lost forever, but the one who repents, who has faith unshaken by the darkness of the world, and boasts not, nor gloats over the misfortunes of the weak, but takes delight in the Maker's law and creations, she shall know the peace of the Maker's benediction. The Light shall lead her safely through the paths of this world, and into the next. For she who trusts in the Maker, fire is her water. As the moth sees light and goes toward flame, she should see fire and go towards Light. The Veil holds no uncertainty for her, end she will know no fear of death, for the Maker shall be her beacon and her shield, her foundation and her sword."

Daylen had his hands in his pockets, he seemed bored recounting everything he knew. Irving reached for one of the books on his shelf, an exact copy of one of the books Daylen had read in the library.

"What did first Enchanter Josephus say about the Spirit school of magic?" Irving asked, turning to the page in the book.

"The first of the two Schools of Energy, Spirit is opposed by the Primal School. It is the school of mystery, the ephemeral school. This is the study of the invisible energies which surround us at all times, yet are outside of nature. It is from the Fade itself that this magic draws its power. Students of this school cover everything from direct manipulation of mana and spell energies to the study and summoning of spirits themselves.

By its nature an esoteric school, as most others know virtually nothing about the Fade, studies of spirit magic are often misunderstood by the general populace, or even confused for blood magic-an unfortunate fate for a most useful branch of study."

Again Greagoir was astonished, and Irving was smiling proudly at the boy.

"Is that all first enchanter?"

* * *

 _Lord Amell_

 _Congratulations on your lordship, Lord Fausten Amell_

 _When the letters first arrive at the tower, I am one of the men who reads them, the other being Knight-Commander Greigor. Your letters always put a smile on Daylen's face._

 _He has not yet reached the appropriate age to practice magic. But he has rebelled against this at times. We set him learning tasks, activities to partake in with the other students. But whilst others can see Daylen as lazy and isolated, I see him very differently._

 _Daylen has a unique gift you see, he can look at an image once and know it. He'll read a book and he won't go back to it for months, yet he still retains the knowledge. But he doesn't seem to have shown any interest in truly learning, truly understanding what each page means. Yet, he is also an outside the box thinker and I believe it is this that will make him a truly good mage._

 _He has no faith, takes no time to pray and can even be disrespectful to the priests here. Not to harm them of course, he simply has no interest in the guidance they have to offer him. It's not to say he doesn't have friends, he spends much time with an older boy Jowan, recently an elf girl named Neria arrived and she's become part of their circle._

 _I wanted you to know that though it is a slow start, I believe Daylen will succeed here._

 _First Enchanter of the Ferelden circle_

 _Irving_

* * *

Fausten put the letter down, and smiled. Finally, after five years, they had heard from the tower. Their pride was safe, perhaps not happy, but he was safe and making slow progress. He sat at his desk, intending to show Revka and the children the letter later. A knock came at his door.

"Enter," he said.

Byran walked in, dressed in chainmail and a grey tunic that had the Amell heraldry/sigil on it.

"More appointments Faust, and this from King's landing," he gave Fausten another letter, one with the king's seal on it.

Fausten unravelled the scroll and huffed as he read it.

"Get the carriage ready, it seems Robert wants to see if my grandchildren are mages," he said.

After five years in Westeros, the Amell family would once again be in the presence of a king.

Next Chapter 6: Kings, slaves and mages

* * *

Hope everyone enjoyed the chapter, Daylen has a photographic memory, of course in those days they wouldn't have called it that, so it is just a good memory to them. A change, Cersei's dark haired child had lived, at least for a little while.

Next time we go from King's landing to Ferelden and the Dothraki sea as the Amell family meets the royal family, more study time at the circle, and across the narrow sea, Damion faces off against slavers.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I don't own Game of Thrones or Dragon Age

* * *

Within a dream

It was a time of peace, an uneasy peace, one won by compromise. A dragon king on one side, a stag king on the other. Revka and Damion stood together in the court of king's landing, where a new member of King Rhaeger's kingsguard was being inducted. Sat beside the king, his queen and truest love, the Northern beauty. The northern beauty whom rejected the beastly stag, only fuelling his rage. In Winterfell her brother Brandon ruled alongside his betrothed Catelyn, whilst Ned stood on the other side of the court with Ashara Dayne. So much had changed because two people had not kept their passion secret.

Damion thought of how worse things could have been if Rhaegar and Lyanna remained silent. The young knight kneeled to the king as he took his oaths, Revka did not doubt that he would be the truest and greatest of the kings guard, perhaps surpassing Arthur Dayne. He was a contrast however to the white armour of the other kings guard members. They were all great knights and men from great houses, his tanned skin, height, ears and hair marked him as some sort of foreign mixed breed. But his blue eyes marked him as an Amell.

"Long ago," Rhaegar began, standing to address the new knight.

"My father and your grandfather had a dream, that their grand children would accomplish great things, I believe in that dream, and I believe you are the culmination of that dream. You have been a friend to my children, as your grandfather was to mine. It is only natural that the greatest of the Amell family should protect the crown," the king explained.

"Rise Sir Daylen Amell!"

* * *

House Amell of Westeros

Chapter 6: Kings, slaves and mages

Damion awoke from his dream in frustration. The fire had died out, despite how hot it was in the day, it could be freezing over night. Such was the contradiction of the desert, but that would perhaps change with the coming of summer. In the years that had passed, Damion's armour had become dirty, left unwashed after numerous fights. The cloak on his back was tattered, and he had grown a dirty beard. But he had also grown stronger, his muscle mass increased as well as his skill. Strapping his iron great sword to his saddle, he mounted his grey horse and resumed his trek.

For several weeks he had been travelling from the disputed lands. Since Westeros and the duel with Dayne, Damion had been in the free cities of Essos. He met a water dancer in Braavos, the first sword was growing older and hardly a reflection of the great swordsman he had once been. In Volantis he found slaves, their faces marked like the Dalish. He did not stay there long, he found a temporary calling in the disputed lands. There he sold his sword in the numerous skirmishes the free cities committed against one another.

There was no particular goal, and he chose no particular banner or city. For a time he searched for the former hand of Aerys, Jon Connington, but according to rumours the man had drunk himself to death. He had faced probably all of the notable companies, and had received offers to join many of them. The Company of the cat and the Windblown practically competed for him, the captains of both engaged in their own bidding war. The second sons, the brave companions, even the famed Golden company had offered him a place in their ranks. But still Damion remained independent, he wouldn't be chained by any of them.

'Chains,' Damion thought, chains bound all, literally and metaphorically.

In Westeros lords and ladies were bound by the thing called duty. Often it was a responsibility, sometimes and excuse. Men and women were bound together before even meeting, often love never developing in their marriages. Damion remembered that his uncle Aristide had been betrothed to his wife. In contrast his father married for love, whilst their grandfather like Aristide married because of a contract. They had been unhappy their entire life, Aristide and his wife Bethann Nee Walker grew to love one another. Damion's mother died giving birth to him.

'Chains,' again Damion thought of the chain of duty, and the war it had led Westeros into.

Bankers bound entire family to debts, honour bound knights to serve lords they hated, kings did both. Generation and generation of families, bound to serve in perpetuity descendents of kings their ancestors bent the knee to. Even the otherworldly bound people.

'Chains,' Damion thought of the red priests, the old gods and the new gods, and the maker and the numerous deities people chose to worship.

So many rules, so many demands. People declared unnatural for how they looked, gods that demanded worship because they were gods and their dictates were always right, and everything otherwise was sinful.

'Fire is the purest death,' Damion scoffed.

He was tempted to burn a red temple and watch the fanatics scream. It was Thoros of Myr who made him think otherwise. Thoros was no violent fanatic whom demanded all nonbelievers be burned alive. He was a drunkard, a fighter who knew what the real world was, how little gods mattered when down in the dirt. Yet still, chains bound him in the form of religion.

'Chains,' Damion thought, squeezing his fists in anger.

Slaves, Essos claimed to be a nation of free cities, yet still certain aspects of slavery were legalised. Slavery, what the chant of light taught to be a true evil committed by the Tevinter Imperium. Yet there it was being practiced, whilst across the desert, in slavers bay it was the way of life. Damion despised it. But what could he do?

'As much as I can,' he thought, breaking the horse off into a gallop.

* * *

Exercise and fresh air was one thing Greagoir understood the mages needed. Daylen stretched his arms, taking in the sun and the above all the air, that Ferelden smell that people didn't appreciate it. He couldn't quite describe it, but it was nothing like the 'wet dog' smell that his great uncle told him about. Aristide Amell was a man Daylen never heard from. He didn't know the man had passed away from a wasting disease, his wife son after, both yearning for the return of their beloved daughter Leandra. Thinking of Aristide made Daylen think of Leandra, about where she was in the world, whether she was happy and free.

'Unlike me,' Daylen sighed, crashing back first on the grass and looking at the clouds.

"I've missed this," Jowan said.

"Yeah?" Daylen asked.

The dark haired boy took a seat beside Daylen, looking across the great expanse of Lake Calenhad. They were soon joined by Neria Surana, the newest elf addition to the tower. She was a boyish, red haired girl with green eyes. Freckles decorated her cheeks and she dropped her bottom unceremoniously to the floor.

"When you grow up on a farm you often smell the fresh air, at least that's what my papa told me," she said.

"Daylen here was born in a city," Jowan said.

"I remember smoke, ash and blood, that's all, Kirkwall did have a sea side smell to it though, even with the high city walls you could smell it," Daylen explained.

"Along with the gull poo," Neria pointed out, making Jowan laugh and Daylen smile. "Yep, it was a city for me too, the Denerim alienage. Our house was nearest the kennels for the guard dogs, I miss the dogs barking. Here its templars barking at me, they're not nearly as cute."

Again Jowan laughed, whilst Daylen chuckled.

"Ooh, that was almost a laugh," Neria giggled.

Daylen shook his head, continuing to look up at the clouds. His friends laid out beside him, enjoying the activity also.

"That one looks like a bunny rabbit," Jowan said.

"I saw that too," said Neria.

"They look a bit like sheep to me," Daylen said.

Both Neria and Jowan looked at him, shocked for a moment. Then slowly they began to laugh, rolling their heads back and clutching their sides. Daylen sat up, his head tilting to the side as he looked at them, confused.

"What's so funny?"

"Children."

The three youths looked up, shielding their eyes. Sunlight was reflecting off of the bald head of a senior enchanter. Uldred, not a man any of the three wanted to associate themselves with. He had his hands behind his back in a relaxed and professional pose. But the smirk on his face still disturbed the children slightly. In particular he focused on Daylen, taking only a moment to address Jowan and Surana.

"I beg your pardon Jowan, Neria, but perhaps you two should move along so I can speak to Daylen," he said.

"What if we don't want to?" Neria asked.

"I think you should do as a senior enchanter says, especially someone whom may one day be your teacher," Uldred said, his voice straining to contain his anger.

"It's all right, go ahead you two," Daylen said.

He stood up, taller than the other two, and unlike them straight into Uldred's eyes. Jowan and Neria nervously walked away, looking back as the Senior Enchanter looked down on the student. Daylen remained still as Uldred leant down slightly, looking closely at Daylen's eyes.

"Fascinating, I have often heard of people paying prices when dabbling, but typically no price is paid at all. It initially led me to believe that it was a mere superstition, or an interpretation. Paying a price, breaking the law, suffering the consequences, thus a price is paid. But a spiritual price? A change to ones magic? I scoffed at the idea," Uldred explained, laughing as Daylen took a step back.

"What are you talking about?" Daylen asked.

"Tell me boy are you familiar with the entirety of transfigurations 1:2?" Uldred asked.

"Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him. Foul and corrupt are they, who have taken his gift and turned it against his children. They shall be named Maleficar, accursed ones. They shall find no rest in this world, or beyond," Daylen quoted.

"And do you know what a Maleficar is?" Uldred inquired.

"Someone who abuses magic," Daylen said, shrugging his shoulders.

"Too broad a term boy, have you read the Codex: Blood magic: the forbidden school?"

"No, but I've heard vague references to blood magic, its...well self explanatory, magic fuelled by blood," again Daylen shrugged his shoulders.

Uldred shook his head, making a 'tut, tut' sound.

"There exists certain forms of magic forbidden by the circle and the chantry. People typically and ignorant believe they are all blood magic, but not really, blood magic is as you say, magic that has used blood as a catalyst. 'Foul and corrupt are you, who have taken my gift and turned it against my children.' Transfigurations 18:10. It is the most forbidden kind of magic, magic that, if the stories are to be believed, nearly destroyed the world," Uldred explained.

"Well obviously it's something I'll want to stay away from," Daylen said.

"You already performed it though," the man chuckled.

"What?"

Daylen was taken aback, utterly shocked. Uldred however simply smirked, walking away from the youth.

"Check the Four schools: a treatise by first Enchanter Josephus, and of course the forbidden school if you're interested in knowing more," the man said, skulking away, but flinching slightly as he crossed paths with Greagoir.

"Daylen, it's time to go back," the Knight-Commander said.

Daylen noted that, the man's voice was slightly less stern than it usually was. Perhaps even fatherly, but just a little bit.

* * *

"Mummy, why does this place smell like poo?"

"I know, it's because no one is actually cleaning up the poo on the streets right?"

"No, it's because of the roads underneath the city, where the dragons live."

Revka smiled, shaking her head at her the curiosity and wonder her children possessed. She walked them fearlessly through the capital. Everyone would see her children, her pride and joys. No one would try anything, those who didn't find them cute, or wished them ill will, couldn't do anything. It wasn't the fact that there were Amell guards, led by the most fiercest warrior in the seven kingdoms, it was that Revka's fearlessness and fury was famous. Her hands were bruised, for she had hit many a would be attacker.

It was said that of his children, Fausten's son inherited his face, whilst Revka inherited his hands. The direct translation of course being, Damion was best at taking hits, Revka was best at hitting things. But those bruised hands held the hands of her twins. Behind her, Bella was holding Dayk's hand, walking next to Byran.

"I missed this," she said.

"Missed what?" Byran asked.

"That smile on Revka's face, it is a smile only a mother could have when in the presence of her children. She loved him so much, no, she loves him still, she will always love him," Bella explained.

"That boy, Daylen," Byran said.

Bella wiped a tear from her eye. She could see him, Daylen, an image of what she believed should be. Daylen, beside his mother, holding Dayk and Dayla's hands, completing the chain that was their family. When the family arrived at the red keep, they saw Baratheon and Lannister guards on opposing sides. Ahead, sitting cautiously on the iron throne was Robert, the years made his beard a little longer, and he had gained a bit of weight too. Cersei sat on a smaller chair beneath him, on his left side, whilst Jon Arryn, the gold hand of the king badge on his breast, sat at Robert's right. In front of them, partially blocking the way to the king was the kingsguard. Ser Barristan, Ser Jamie in his gold highlighted armour, and the new additions, men Byran wondered why they were kingsguards. Mandon Moore was a decent swordsman, perhaps better than Jamie, Byran understood why he was a kings guardsman. Preston Greenfield was skilled enough, not in the same league as the latter three. Meyrn Trant was a bully, Byran had seen him cut down opponents much younger than him. Then there was Boros Blount, a man Byran had seen cowering better than fighting.

Completing the seven was a knight from the Eyrie, not a notable fighter, he had a good name though. The Royce family had been protectors of the Vale for generations. If Arryn fell with no heirs, the Vale would fall under their rule, and no one doubted they were capable of ruling it.

Revka brought her children forward, holding Dayk's hand as Dayla and Revion walked alone. She bowed and Dayk followed, Revion and Dayla however looked around in confusion.

"Where's the king?" Dayla asked.

"I think he's the one sitting on the swords," Revion said.

"Mummy told us he was a warrior, but isn't he a bit fat?"

Most of the royal court gasped, Cersei looked as if she was fighting herself. Fighting the urge to be insulted, and laugh at her husband's expense. Jamie smiled at the innocence of the children.

"Excuse me, do those swords prick your bum?" Revion asked.

Barristan and Jamie both coughed, whilst Robert looked down at the children, narrowing his eyes at them.

"I think they have," Dayla said.

Slowly, Robert began to laugh. He got off the throne and clapped his hands.

"They certainly are your children Revka," he said, walking down the steps of the throne. "Come, come closer!"

Revka nodded to her children, letting go of Dayk's hand and giving it to Revion, who smiled at his little brother. The three children walked to Robert's side and he got on one knee to look at them.

"Show us your muscles," he said to Revion and Dayk.

They both puffed up their chests and flexed their arms.

"You'll be soldiers, and you must be Dayla," Robert said as he looked over the girl.

"Named after your brother, the one in Ferelden right?"

"Actually we've been named after a distant ancestor Daylenium Amellim," Dayla said.

"Daylenium," Robert put a hand to his chin, searching his minimal learned mind.

"Daylenium Amellim was a founding member of what would later be called the Amell family," Cersei said, walking over to the children. "A known figure within Tevinter, prior to the rise of the chantry. He was said to be the greatest arcane warrior of that time, to some he was a hero who paved the way for Tevinter to become the great military power it was. Others say he was a villain, a man whom consorted with demons, and united numerous tribes into an empire through ruthless force."

"As you see my wife is more learned than me, perhaps you would like to speak with...oooof!" Robert let out a surprised yelp as Dayla tugged at his beard.

"It is real," she said.

Robert, and even Cersei laughed, much to the confusion of the whole court. As Revka and the royal family spoke, Bella and Byran took to opposite sides of the court. Bella bowed her head as Varys approached her.

"Lord Varys," she said.

"Sister Bella, an honour to see you again, I prayed for your lady and her children to have a safe journey," the Eunuch bowed his head, standing beside her as they watched the Amell children and their mother.

"I understand you're a man who knows things Lord Varys," Bella said.

"My birds have been known to hear things, the mundane and the important, which one interests you my lady? Though understand that I cannot speak on matters pertaining to the crown," Varys explained, interrupting Bella at the last moment.

"Lyonel, my treatment of him was complete, there were other minor procedures I wanted to carry out but Jon Arryn dismissed me with very little explanation. Perhaps you can elaborate as to why a child that should be alive is now dead?" Bella asked.

Varys remained silent, his courteous mask dropping, his eyes turning serious. His smile twisted upside down and his voice took on a quieter pitch.

"I know not why the boy died, that is something my birds have remained quiet on. But your dismissal was both a council matter and a request by the queen herself. Perhaps the queen believed there was no need to fear anymore, a tragic mistake I'm sure she carries with her," Varys explained.

"You said it was a council matter too, what do you mean by that?" Bella asked.

"I only speak of what people see, you are a foreign woman, a devout follower of a foreign religion. Jon Arryn's concern was perception, his appointed master of coin was concerned with the cost of your healing methods and Maestar Pycelle, as a trained healer himself was concerned for the success of your methods."

"Translation being he didn't trust me and was insulted that the care of the heir was in my hands," Bella said.

"I cannot speak ill of my fellow council members," Varys said.

"But you cannot speak good of Pycelle either can you?"

"No," Varys shrugged his shoulders in agreement.

Byran was standing away from most of the other nobles, when Stannis Baratheon approached him. In contrast to Robert, though Stannis had aged he did not seem to have lost any muscle. Another contrast to Robert was that the man kept his hair short, and wore darker, conservative clothes that matched his personality. Unlike Robert he was not loud, lustful or a lover of the finer things. Byran had heard people describe Stannis as humourless, which made Byran respect him more.

"Lord Stannis," he bowed his head as the man approached.

"Sir Byran, they have grown fast," Stannis said.

"Amell children have that habit, I understand you are the master of ships."

"Lord Fausten has already discussed the possibility of trade with his nephew in Kirkwall. But it seems Gamlen has left his family home for some treasure hunt," Stannis explained.

"He can hardly be blamed, he had to take care of both his sick parents," Byran said.

"It was his duty!"

"Yes it was, and now that they're gone, the family is his to lead. He hired a Seneschal, bought a ship and crew and now he's following his dream. Following his fool uncle's example," Byran explained.

"You speak of your lord that way?" Stannis asked, his tone almost hostile.

"I speak 'to' my lord that way, decisions filled with risk can be seen as foolhardy to some. What was the point of abandoning treatment of Lyonel?"

The two warriors turned to face each other. Stannis stood his ground, knowing Byran's anger wasn't actually directed at him.

"Most of the council were more worried about appearances, but the final decision came from the queen herself," he said.

"Why would the queen abandon treatment of her own child?" Byran asked.

Stannis looked over at his brother and the queen. They seemed almost like a happy pairing, talking to the Amell children, perhaps better than they did their own.

'Neither though take their duties seriously,' Stannis thought. 'To their children, or each other!'

* * *

The Dothraki were known as some of the fiercest fighters in the world. But the world was a very big place, and Damion knew that there were far better fighters than the savages. They possessed the illusion of discipline, coordinating with one another only on instinct. There was a leader, a Khal and his blood riders, but that was the closest chain of command they had. Dothraki had respect, a warrior was strong if he had the greatest mount, if he had stolen many mounts.

'Mounts,' Damion snarled as he cut down one savage after another.

He hated them, despised them, wanted to kill them all. They attacked a village, a village of goat herders and god worshippers. They were labelled the best mounted fighters in the eastern island, when they easily would have fallen to the much more superior Chevaliers. Hack and hack, Damion slashed, knocking riders off of their horses. He wanted to kill them all, the savage bastards, whom glorified it. Glorified enslavement, glorified rape, and built their entire culture up around it.

"If you can understand me, GOD TO HELL!" Damion yelled through his helmet.

A blood rider galloped towards him, screaming a Dothraki battle cry. Swinging his curved sword at Damion. Damion grabbed the man's arm and with his strength, yanked him off of the horse. Slamming the man, no not a man, an animal to the ground. He stomped on his face repeatedly, bashing in his face, like the savage bashed in the heads of the women who wouldn't be mounted. A final stomp to the neck, and he broke it.

'Mounts,' Damion shook his head, blocking arrows fired at him.

Two riders, both with bows. Firing from a horse was hard work, you had to slow down just enough. Damion grabbed the dead Dothraki's sword and threw it, imbedding it in one man's neck. Then he pulled a crossbow from his hip, firing a bolt into one of the horse's legs. The beast bucked up, screaming in pain. Damion rushed shield first, putting all his weight into the push, sending horse crashing onto the ground, the rider between them.

"MAKER DAMN YOU ALL! MAKER CURSE YOUR ENTIRE CULTURE! MAKER DESTROY YOUR WAY OF LIFE!" with each curse he cut, hack and slash.

He wanted to kill them all. Hack and slash, tackle and stab, his skin felt as if it was melting in its armour.

"Kill every last, fucking, one of you!" again and again he hacked and slashed.

All of them, the rapists, the enslavers, the child killers. The Dothraki who gained strength from it. The Lannisters who paid their men with it. The Baratheons who smiled at it. Even the great and honourable North men who enabled it, and even took part in it themselves.

"ALL OF YOU JUST DIE!" Damion roared.

He swung his great sword, through the neck of a horse. He pushed, tearing through the beast's neck, and the blade slammed into the Khal's chest, throwing him miles from his mount. Damion's helmet clattered to the ground, his eyes nearly glowing in rage. His berserker training had taken hold of him, demanded him to kill them all. The Dothraki, even the lowest of riders, even their slaves whom accepted their ways, even the children destined to follow in their footsteps.

Damion's hands shook, he looked at the blood stained gauntlets. The anger in his eyes faded, replaced by shock, and horror with himself.

'Father, the anger, has it chained me?' Damion wondered.

He looked over his shoulder, at what was left of the innocent. Children, elders and women, mourning their fathers, husbands and sons. Others picking up swords and bows. They looked at him, not as a foreigner, but something they had no word for. Or at least something they hadn't had in a long time.

'No father, I'm not a hero, there's no such thing as a hero,' Damion thought bitterly, resting his sword on his shoulder as he continued his journey, with people behind him.

* * *

Lessons continued for Daylen. He recounted schools of magic to his teachers. Four schools of magic, spirit, entropy, creation and primal.

"Yes Primal, the magic of war," Uldred said, demonstrating it by conjuring fire in his hands. "Another name is elemental magic, or the school of power, why is it linked to the school of spirit?" Uldred asked.

One of the students, a blonde haired girl raised her hand.

"Because it is one of the schools of energy," she said.

"Very good, primal magic is the natural energy of the world, spirit is of course deemed the 'unnatural' energy of the world. Those who master the primal school can serve armies, to summon storms, burn and freeze, and shake the very ground. But there are other uses of the elements, tell me Jowan..." Uldred turned to the nervous boy next to Daylen.

"Um well, I saw one of the Enchanters cover himself with rocks," Jowan said.

"Rock armour, good, anything else Jowan?" the senior mage asked.

Jowan nervously looked at some of the others. Daylen nudged Jowan with his finger, discretely forming a fist.

"Fists, they can launch a rock fist," some of the enthusiasm returned to Jowan's face.

"Good, I can already tell what your expertise might be in," Uldred's eyes focused on Daylen's hand, even as he turned away from the students. "Tell me...Daylen," the man smirked, turning to Daylen. "Which of the primal elements can be used to enchant?"

"All of them," Daylen said.

Jowan looked at his friend in shock, that he actually got a question wrong. The other children laughed at him, some discreetly, others not so.

"Ser Marlon, can you please draw your sword for me?" Uldred asked.

The templar guard drew his sword, and the children gasped in awe as Uldred enchanted it with fire.

"Fire, lightning and ice," he enchanted the blade again and again with each element, looking smugly at Daylen.

Again the other children laughed. Jowan looked sympathetically at Daylen, who lowered his head. He closed his eyes, and for a moment Jowan thought he was going to cry. Suddenly, Daylen opened his eyes, both were glowing, making the red in his eyes obvious. Cracks started forming around Daylen's skin, as if it was rock. Then with a spark of electricity from his eyes, Daylen covered himself, much to the shock of the room, with rock armour. It was a very simple style, and made Daylen looked like a miniature golem.

'That's so cool,' the boys thought.

'Oh he looks so cute and cuddly,' some of the girls thought.

'YEAH AWESOME!' Surana yelled mentally.

"What do you think you're doing when you make rock armour, you're enchanting yourself, prick!" Daylen said, shattering the armour with a wave of his hand.

Uldred narrowed his eyes in fury.

"Amell, go to the..."

"First-Enchanter's office, I know," Daylen shrugged as he walked away.

Marlon shook his head in disapproval, Uldred however was still seething.

'Little shit, you won't be the favourite forever,' he thought, cursing the boy's life.

* * *

'She is truly blessed,' Cersei thought.

She watched the Amell woman walking through the garden with her children. Already Damion was reading a book, Dayk was behaving and Dayla's rebellious side had a cute appeal. In some ways the girl reminded Cersei of herself. There were days she would cut her hair short, pretend to be Jamie and train in his place. But then she got older, and became an obvious woman. Her father pushed her into her studies, her duties, and that was that. Revka looked like a woman, a beauty Cersei herself admitted, yet there were times she acted like a man. Fausten didn't lecture her, or push her.

'The woman truly is blessed,' Cersei thought, bitterly.

What she admired about the Amell heiress, she also despised. Again Cersei checked over Myrcella and Joffrey, making sure both were better dressed than the Amells.

"Come you two, you need to introduce yourselves," she said sternly.

"Why do we have to meet the foreigners?" Joffrey asked.

"Those foreigners helped your father win the crown, they were friends of the dragons, whom chose your father's house," Cersei said.

"Of course, they would have been foolish to stand against father," Joffrey huffed, proudly.

"No Joffrey, if they sided with the Targaryens they would have turned the tide in their favour. Your grandfather thinks so, your uncles think so, even your father thinks so," Cersei explained. "A wise ruler picks his enemies and his allies carefully."

"I'd rather be friends with them," Myrcella said.

Cersei took the children down to the gardens, where Dayk and Dayla were playing with sticks. Revion was sitting on the ground, reading a book.

"It is truly wonderful to meet you both," Revka said to the prince and princess.

"What are you playing?" Joffrey demanded, taking Dayk and Dayla aback.

"Duel knights," Dayla said, smiling.

"It sounds like a stupidly childish game," Joffrey said.

"We are childish," Myrcella said.

Both Myrcella and Dayla laughed as Joffrey grit his teeth together.

"Fine, tell me the rules and I will best you both," the prince puffed his chest out proudly.

"Oh there are no rules to it, we're following a story," Dayla explained.

"If there's no winner, what's the point?"

"The point is to have fun silly."

"Who do you dare to call silly?" Joffrey again demanded.

"Come on, let me show you," Dayla grabbed Joffrey by his hands and skipped away from the adults.

Cersei nervously watched, Joffrey had a tendency to throw tantrums when he didn't get his way. But Dayla was as fearless as her mother, holding her stick and twirling it about as she explained to Joffrey about their self made game. He seemed to take to it, proudly pretending to be a knight, leading Dayla and Dayk against a dragon.

"The game was made by our staff's children in Kirkwall," Revka said to Cersei.

"They seem to enjoy it," Cersei commented.

"They do," Revka and Cersei looked towards Myrcella, who shuffled towards Revion, reading over his shoulder.

"What are you reading?" she asked.

The boy blinked in confusion, as if he hadn't felt Myrcella behind him at all. He pulled the book open and showed it to Myrcella.

"It's called Last Flight, the story is about Garahel, a grey warden during the Exalted age," he turned back to the first page and told Myrcella about the exalted age and the fourth blight.

'They're all children,' Cersei thought bitterly. 'But it will not last!'

* * *

Meereen was one of the great cities, where slavery was simply a part of life. Some even served their families happily, treated like servants. But the choice to serve was never theirs. There was also a deep profit in continuing the slave trade between cities. Slavers bay was what linked these cities, but they accepted 'donations' from outside the city. Meereen in particular had a grand arena, where men butchered one another for the entertainment of the nobility.

He wanted to save them all. But he was just one man. A man whom has stashed his armour outside of the city. But still he had a sword, short and easily concealed, but sharp. Sharp enough to slide through a slavers back, to slide out, then slide under the pit of the one in front. The blade was sharp, and wielding a great sword had made him strong, and quicker with a smaller blade. So quick that he moved from one enemy to another.

Blood stained the alleyways, and Damion kept his hand on the mouth of the final opponent. A thin man, whose look of surprise wouldn't haunt Damion. He didn't want to understand the man, to understand how selling people's lives was a normal thing, to understand that it was a way of life for this man. He didn't want to think of the man's family whom he was supporting, didn't want to think about anything that made this man seem good. But he didn't think about what made him bad either, he focused on his true desire.

He wanted to save them all, but he was just one man. A man who would save as many as he could, and lead them to a better tomorrow. The slaves were frightened, some were young, some women, some men, some whom had already lived half their lives, some were humans and others were elves, some weren't even from the local region.

"What are we going to do?" a Westerosi man asked.

Damion sheathed his sword, pulled down his hood, and the mask over his face and put all of the comfort he could afford these people into his eyes. He wanted to free everyone.

"I've got you, I'm going to get you all out of here," he said.

He would free as many as he could.

Next Chapter 7: Tantrums, lectures and flights

* * *

Hope everyone enjoyed the chapter, next time, Damion continues his adventures, and Joffrey finally shows his true colours. Plus, more of circle life, and Tyrion (yay).


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Age or Game of Thrones

* * *

House Amell of Westeros

Chapter 7: Tantrums, lectures and flights

Irving tapped his finger against his desk, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his other hand. The frustration wasn't getting to him, that is at least what he told himself. Openly defiant mages was one thing, would be apostates, even Maleficarum he knew how to deal with. Even someone with an attitude problem was something he knew how to handle. This was something different altogether, Daylen was good, his potential was astounding. But that didn't mean he could flaunt it, and Daylen knew that. The occasional outburst was to be expected, and secretly Irving believed that Uldred had done something to deserve it. He wasn't the most popular of Enchanters.

"You disrespected one of your teachers?" Greagoir asked.

"Yes Knight-Commander," Daylen said.

"I believe the word 'prick' was thrown out," Ser Marlon said.

Behind Daylen was of course Marlon, and the injured party Uldred himself.

"He used magic without my consent, it wasn't a loss of control, he knew exactly what he was doing, knew the consequences of it," Uldred explained.

"I know what happens if I try to harm other people with my magic, the tranquil ritual, but if I pass my harrowing, Aeonar, the mage prison," Daylen stated, continuing to look at Greagoir and Irving.

Crossing his fingers together, Irving looked at Daylen and frowned, trying to make it clear to him that he wasn't impressed. But disappointment worked better, and Irving was genuinely disappointed with him. It wasn't a trick, being honest was the only way to get through to Daylen, he didn't like letting people down.

"Uldred return to your duties," Irving said.

"Is that it?" Uldred asked, taking a step forward.

There was a glare in the man's eyes.

"This child, you're too lenient with him, both of you are," Uldred snarled, looking at both the Knight-commander and the First Enchanter. "He is a Maleficar, he should have been made tranquil the moment he came to this tower!"

"Enough Uldred," Irving rose from his chair, looking Uldred in the eyes.

The older man did not back down, Uldred didn't need to look at the templars. Irving was getting older, but he still had an incredible strength of character. One Daylen admired and hoped to live up to. A small smile spread across Daylen's face, but he dropped it when Irving's disapproving eyes looked down at him. Uldred stormed out of the office, slamming the door behind him.

"Ser Marlon, you're dismissed as well," Greagoir said.

Marlon nodded his head and walked out. Once they had left, Irving walked around his desk and rubbed his eyes in frustration.

"Can I speak?" Daylen asked.

"I think you've done enough talking," Greagoir said.

"Do you know what you did wrong?" Irving asked.

"Spoke too loudly, should have whispered," Daylen said.

"You see he can't even answer the question properly, you were showing off Amell, showing off and deliberately trying to make a fool out of Uldred," the Knight-commander explained.

"He was asking for it!"

"And you rose to his taunts, just like you rose to the taunts of the older children when you punched them, just like you rose to the revered mother's challenge and tried to nitpick every piece of scripture she tried to use to teach you and other children. Believing that you're in the right is never enough, you have to prove everyone wrong."

"I'm not going to stand by when people are being picked on, and why is the fact that I don't believe in the Maker matter to everyone?" Daylen asked.

"It'll matter to zealots, it doesn't matter to those whom have chosen because they believe for the sake of belief. But when you mock them for that belief, then it matters," Irving said, speaking for the first time.

Daylen lowered his head slightly, the frown fading.

"You have so much potential Daylen, and I am afraid you'll waste it," there was no compassion in Irving's voice, it was more like a father scolding his son.

"Potential for what, living in a tower for the rest of my life?"

"You think that is all there is to a circle mage's life?" Greagoir asked.

"Isn't it?"

"It isn't Daylen, we are not just prisoners here, you'll see it one day," Irving said. "But for now, you must learn humility."

"Humility?" Daylen looked up at Irving in confusion.

"To the kitchen, they'll want to put you to work."

Daylen nodded his head as he walked out.

"Is he going to be a problem?" Greagoir asked.

"Daylen is a good lad, and he's no different from any of the others, everyone complains about the tower, about spending the rest of our lives here," Irving explained.

"I recall you did a lot of complaining yourself," Greagoir said.

"I was just like Daylen really, I thought I had it all figured out, what was right, what was worth fighting for. He's still young, let him gain experience and you'll see, he will be a great mage of the circle."

Greagoir shook his head as he walked to the door.

"He'd better, otherwise we will do what we should have done when he first used magic," the Knight-Commander said.

When Daylen got to the kitchens, the elf workers there were getting the stew ready. He told the head cook, a human man who looked like he needed a meal himself, about his punishment from the First-Enchanter. The cook wasn't even looking at Daylen when he told him to start peeling potatoes. Daylen turned a bucket upside down, sat on it, took the knife and a potato from the bag. He looked at the blade and the potato, unsure of what to do. Giving it a try, he cut a chunk of skin, only to slice his finger. He quickly put his finger in his mouth, keeping the blood from spilling on the potato.

"Excuse me, could I have some help?" he asked.

An elf girl walked over, smirking at Daylen's expense.

"You have to be the youngest to ever be given the lesson of humility, usually Irving sends people here prior to their harrowing," she said.

"Can you show me how to do this?" Daylen asked, looking up at the girl.

She smiled, for a moment. Then as she crouched to take the blade, she looked into Daylen's eyes. Slowly she looked at the cut on Daylen's finger and gasped. He saw it in her eyes, the sudden grip of fear.

"Don't worry I'll take care of that, just wait around until after supper tonight, we'll have a job for you then," she snatched the potato and knife from Daylen's hands.

"Okay," Daylen said, standing up and making his way out of the kitchen.

"That's the one, the red eyed boy, the Maleficar," he heard one of the servants whisper.

He stopped, his fists tense and teeth gritting together. But then, he moved forward, deciding he was in enough trouble already.

* * *

King's landing was certainly beautiful when waking up. Cold seemed to be a foreign concept in king's landing. Though Revka didn't doubt that when the long winter came, king's landing would be just as cold as the North. She pulled off her sheets, spread her arms and moaned as the sun's rays hit her. The morning light seemed perfect, hiding the decadence of the city itself. Again she stretched her arms over her head, linking her fingers together and tilting her neck. It was an exercise she often did when waking up.

It was an exercise her children had mimicked when they woke up. Revion and Dayla however had woken up long before their mother. The latter had been on her bed, playing with a wooden sword, whilst Revion read a book. Dayla noted that her twin was no longer reading the story of Garahel, but a loose adaptation of the famous dance of dragons. Their little brother was repeating his mother's exercise, opening his mouth wide in a yawn.

"Even in the red castle there's a smell," Dayla said.

"That's because Dayk wet the bed," Revion said, never looking away from his book.

"I had a nightmare," Dayk nervously stepped away from his bed, crossing his legs together.

"Excuses, excuses, the queen's going to be mad, she's going to punish you," Dayla said.

"Please don't tell the queen, she looks like she can get really angry!"

"She's secretly a witch of the wild, she'll turn you into a toad she will."

"That's not true Day, there are no witches in Westeros."

Whilst Dayla laughed at their brother's fears, Revion listened but remained indifferent to it. He folded the tip of the page he was on, closed his book, and began getting dressed. Dayla and Dayk soon followed, Dayla herself dressing into some of Revion's spare clothes. They found their guards waiting outside, one in Kirkwall city guard armour and armed with a broad sword, the other in Orlesian styled armour, with the styled sword of his country.

"Are you ready for your studies Revion, Dayk?" the Orlesian asked, his accent thick, though not to the point that he couldn't be understood.

"I'm ready," Revion said.

"And I'll be joining you," Dayla said, only for the two men to look down at her in disapproval.

"A lady must know when to fight, and when to attend her lessons on being a lady," Orlais said.

"The queen has invited you to join her and her daughter for breakfast, alongside your mother," the Marcher said.

"And if this is anything like my country, an invitation from a royal is also code for an order, to refuse would be unwise," Orlais added.

The three children and their guards went down to the royal gardens. At that point they separated, Orlais took Dayk and Revion to the yard, whilst Marcher escorted Dayla, and the later addition Revka, to the queen and her hand maidens. With the hand maidens was also Myrcella, whom was reading the book she had exchanged with Revion. The other handmaidens whispered amongst themselves, clear disapproval over Dayla's boyish clothes.

"Sorry for Dayla's wardrobe, she thought she would be joining the boys in sparring," Revka said.

Cersei put on a smile as she approached them both. She looked down at Dayla, as if inspecting a soldier, checking her lazy, but determined posture, her cheekbones, her short hair and the way she looked up at her. Defiance was easy to find in a child's eyes, Cersei saw it in her boy all the time. Yet Joffrey often called to her, resorted to her, yearning for her approval as much as he yearned for Robert's. Dayla however, never once looked to her mother.

"You know Dayla, when I was your age, I looked very much like my brother. I would put on his clothes and pretend to be him, sneaking into his sword fighting lessons. Our poor trainers could never tell the difference," Cersei explained.

"Really, are you secretly a better sword fighter than your brother?" Dayla asked.

The Queen's handmaidens widened their eyes, hearing an unfamiliar sound from their mistress. Laughter, genuine laughter, the kind that Cersei never used around her children.

"Are you hungry Dayla?" Cersei asked.

Dayla eagerly nodded her head, the queen took her hand and led her to the breakfast table.

As the ladies ate, the men trained. Orlais stood as the only guard for Dayk and Revion, both of whom were dressed in wooden practice armour. Joffrey stood proudly with his retinue of Lannister men, in their red and gold armour. Jamie stood as the lone kingsguard, eager to get away from Robert. He was more interested in seeing the potential of Fausten's grandchildren. Though he was not able to witness the fight with the Mountain, or any of Fausten's fights, he believed everything that was said about the man.

"All right, both of you take the practice swords, remember, even a blunt weapon can kill, and this is just a spar," the master at arms said.

Joffrey took a sword from the rack, resting it on his shoulder cockily. Jamie shook his head in dismay, what the other Lannister men would have done if brave enough. The prince fancied himself a swordsman, thought he had the potential to be the greatest fighter alive. Joffrey didn't practice with the blade, and no one was foolish enough to beat the prince. Revion stepped forward, adjusting the straps on his shield so that it would cover his arm. He could hold his sword with both hands, but it also exposed his hand.

"I heard your grandfather is the greatest warrior in Thedas," Joffrey said.

"Actually the Orlesian chevaliers, grey wardens, templars and Dalish have produced much better warriors than my grandfather," Revion stated.

"Dalish? You mean those savage elves?" Joffrey asked, and then laughed. "I sincerely doubt they can be effective swordsmen."

"They are," Revion said, he wasn't whining, wasn't complaining, he didn't even sound like a child.

He was speaking a fact, and that was that. But for Joffrey, the truth was whatever he wanted.

"Begin," the master at arms said.

Joffrey lunged his sword forward, just as Revion raised his shield and rushed forward too. The prince's weapon was deflected, and Revion kept charging. He knocked Joffrey to the ground, making the prince drop his sword.

"You, you hit me," he said, clutching his chest and coughing.

"Of course, that's the point isn't it?" Revion asked. "Or is fighting about letting the opponent hit you?" the boy put a hand to his finger in deep thought. "Orlais, is that the point of fighting? Excuse me master at arms, is that the point? You men there is..."

"Enough, you've harmed the prince," one of the Lannister guards said.

Jamie again shook his head. The force of the blow wasn't that great, Revion hadn't put his full strength into it. The Lannister guards knew that, even Joffrey himself knew that. But it didn't matter to them, the prince had been struck.

"Again, again and you're going to lose this time," Joffrey said.

He got up, and ran forward again. Joffrey swung his sword wide, too widely, Revion deflected it with the edge of the shield, then lightly tapped the blade against Joffrey's side.

"Dead," Revion said.

Joffrey lunged, only for Revion to side step, then tap Joffrey on the back.

"Dead!"

The prince yelled, making Dayk hide behind Orlais's leg. Revion however remained calm, eerily calm. He dodged each of Joffrey's thrusts, merely tilting his head. He dragged his blade against Joffrey's, putting it to his neck.

"Dead!"

Again Joffrey swung, again Revion put the blade near his heart.

"Dead!"

Joffrey swung, he parried, tapping his leg and tripping him to the floor.

"Dead!"

With a dark glint in his eye, Joffrey swung his sword at Revion's legs. The boy stepped back, again and again he stepped back. As Joffrey got up, Revion thrust his blade forward, putting it to Joffrey's eye.

"Dead," Revion said, his face emotionless as he stopped the blade inches from the prince's eye.

The Lannister guards had their hands on their swords.

"We're just practicing, what's the worry?" Revion asked.

"Revion," Dayk called out to his brother.

Revion looked between Dayk, Orlais and the Lannister guards. He saw the fear in Dayk's eyes, and then the fear in Joffrey's.

"Why are you afraid, I'm not trying to hurt you," he said, stepping away from Joffrey. "Maybe it's best I not play anymore."

"YOU'RE DEAD!" Joffrey yelled.

He held ups his sword and swung with all his strength. Revion turned and raised up his shield. The blade bounced off of Revion's shield, hitting Joffrey's forehead. As their prince fell to the ground bleeding, the Lannister guards moved to draw their swords. Slowly, Orlais put his hand on his sword too.

* * *

A lesson that Fausten taught his children, was about the importance of preparation. It was a lesson Damion only truly heeded when in Westeros and Essos. There were so many dangers and wonders in Thedas, things much more dangerous than the west and eastern islands. They had to make up for the lack of giants, darkspawn and demons, or so it seemed. Humans were the worst threat in Damion's knew home. He had to be careful with people, and ultimately prepare.

It was no accident that Damion chose recently taken slaves. He knew that there was a great risk in trying to free slaves. But before they had been chained, before they had carried out even one command for their new masters, before they had even met their new masters, was an ideal time to take them. Slaves who had been so for even a few months, could be used to their new lives. They craved the order that came with slavery, the purpose that came with it.

'Nothing is wrong, everything is fine, they might said, but it isn't, they just don't know any better,' Damion thought.

He tracked the routes the slavers took, from dock to arena, planned out in his mind every route he should take. Then he counted, the number of steps to the horses at the stables, when they had a full selection of horses there. When he found out that they wouldn't, he adjusted his plan. He thought 'who has horses that doesn't deserve them', the Dothraki were the first to come to mind. The Dothraki traders were easy to find, and even easier to kill. They were young, their braids barely visible, they hadn't been tested. Even their horses had no great loyalty or bond with them.

Then there was the issue of supplies. He took the water skins from the Dothraki, bought a few more, then bought or stole water. Food was something that could be hunted, or taken from a horse if need be. He had the distance from Meereen to the free cities down to memory. Killing the guards was easy, getting the freed slaves to the gate, easy when he covered their chains with ragged cloaks he purchased. It took a lot of coin, but he had made a lot as a sell sword. Once they were out of the gates, they got to where Damion hid the horses. Children rode with the elderly, adults rode alone and in pairs if they had to.

"Keep riding, keep on riding ahead," Damion told them.

They would ride alone, at least for a little bit. Damion would not break his promise, he had them. He just needed the bait. Occasionally he would make himself seen, by them, but he knew the slavers of Meereen would not let this go. It took days for them to catch up with the retinue of slaves. Their horses were lighter, built for pursuit. They had no desire to kill what they could profit from. So when they saw the freed slaves, trotting across the desert undefended, they charged. Damion came over the hill and flanked them. His great sword crashed through their armour, throwing them off of their mounts. Damion kept the shield on his arm raised, blocking arrows and spears. He rode around them, adjusting his course just enough. With each pass he cut one down, deflecting the thrust of a spear or swing of a sword.

When the last of the hunters fell, Damion rode hard towards the free slaves. He rode into the middle of the group, becoming a part of it again. They cheered for him, praised him and thanked him. This was the battle he had yearned for, the glory surpassed all kingly reward. Being a hero, this was it, what his father sought. But there was still a ways to go, still a ways to go to make sure these people were free, as they should be.

* * *

The breakfast was good, Cersei at least maintained the illusion of civility. Revka could tell she liked her daughter, as Revka liked Myrcella. The girl was engrossed in the tale of the fourth blight. She read and turned each page with wonder in her eyes. Cersei made small talk about the kingdom, the men of the king's guard, making the other handmaidens giggle as they thought of their own ideal husbands.

"And you Revka, what of your husband, have you hidden him?" Cersei asked.

"I have no husband," Revka said.

"Did he die in battle with the dragons?"

"I was impregnated shortly before leaving Kirkwall. We were not married, but we were greatly in love," Revka explained.

"So your children are bastards?" one of the handmaidens asked.

"They are not bastards, they are my sons and daughter," there was a strength in Revka's eyes that Cersei admired.

She was the lion, no harm would come to her cubs. Revka, was an eagle, watchful of her chicks. Or so Cersei believed.

"Myrcella, put the book down and speak with our guests," Cersei said.

"But I'm at the best part, Garahel has tamed his griffon."

Cersei rolled her eyes, but smiled at her daughter's belief of such nonsense.

"Be thankful she's reading the child friendly version your grace," Revka said.

"Child friendly?"

"Yes, Garahel was known for his...expertise with women."

The handmaidens giggled and Cersei smirked.

"So the character in the book was based on a historical figure?" Cersei asked.

"No, Garahel was real, he was a city elf who later became a hero and united an army to beat back the fourth blight," Dayla said.

Much to Revka's shock, Cersei snatched the book from Myrcella's grasp. She looked at the cover, a griffon painted alongside the famous helm of Garahel. Cersei flicked through the pages, not even trying to hide her scoff. She threw the book onto Dayla's lap.

"Such nonsense, no army would be willing to follow and elf," she said.

"Garahel was a very charismatic individual, and the darkspawn are monsters that often lead to alliances with even the worse of enemies," Revka explained.

"Even if such monsters existed, no one would be foolish enough to ally with an elf with no title, no power, and nothing to give them," Cersei explained.

"He did have something to give them," Revka said.

"And what was that?" the queen barely seemed interested.

So Revka remained silent, unwilling to waste time changing a person who wouldn't change. Her opinion of the queen steadily grew worse. For in her eyes Revka could see contempt for all she deemed beneath her. There was respect true, but also lofty standards to live up to. Revka would not waste time trying to live up to Cersei Lannister's twisted ideals.

"It doesn't matter, it's all a fiction, the only monsters in this world are the ones we see every day," Cersei said.

"Oh I agree, but there are worse things, that I hope you never see your grace," Revka said.

It was then that a servant ran into the courtyard, panting and with a panicked expression on his face.

"Your grace, Lady Amell, it's your sons, something has happened to your sons," he said.

Cersei rose before Revka did, already moving ahead of the group. She didn't even stop to take Myrcella's hand, more concerned for her first born cub. Revka took both Myrcella and Dayla, walking behind the queen and her maids. When they arrived at the training courtyard, a small group had gathered. The king, Stannis, Byron, Varys, Arryn and Pycelle and the rest of the kingsguard. They were standing in a circle, Joffrey closest to Robert and the Lannister and king's guards, Stannis, Arryn and Varys in the middle and Dayk and Revion by Orlais and Byron.

"What is the meaning of this?" Cersei asked, then she saw the blood on Joffrey's forehead and rushed to his side, cupping his cheeks and checking the wound.

"Which of you is responsible for this?" she demanded, looking at Revion and Dayk.

"It was him, he struck me several times," Joffrey said, pointing at Revion.

"I would have let Joffrey hit me if those were the rules, but I thought the point of training was to improve, no one improves if they don't fight at their best.

"He's right, the prince won't truly be a fighter unless he faces opponents who are willing to hit him," Stannis said.

"He is the prince, look at this, he could have broken his skull," Cersei said.

"Not likely, Joffrey doesn't hit that hard," Revion said.

"What do you mean lad?" Arryn asked.

"Joffrey swung his sword at me, I blocked with my shield, the sword bounced off of it, and hit him, so in a way Joffrey was responsible for his own injury," Revion explained.

"You hit yourself?" Robert asked, half laughing, half scowling at the prince.

Joffrey cast his eyes to the ground.

"He was...was...trying to hurt Revion," Dayk stuttered.

He flinched as Cersei glared at him.

"That's not true," Joffrey said.

"Indeed, he wasn't trying to hurt Revion, he was trying to kill him, the words 'you're dead' were yelled out," Orlais explained.

"Mere child's play," Cersei scoffed.

"He swung his sword with all his strength, he yelled it out in anger, and he had in his eyes the intent to kill."

"How dare you speak against the prince," Meryn Trant said.

"Who are you to judge the prince?" Cersei asked.

"Personne, nobody your grace, just a soldier whose seen killing intent many times, I have no name other than the name my mother gave me, Roland," the Orlesian explained.

"Well Roland, the guards tell me that Revion struck Joffrey multiple times, resulting in the cut on his head," Robert said.

"True from a certain point of view I suppose, Revion raised his shield, thus deflecting Joffrey's blow back at him. Joffrey also lost his temper, the master at arms didn't tell them to stop when he saw this, neither did any of us try to stop it. So there are multiple people responsible," Roland explained.

Robert nodded his head.

"He should be punished, I want him punished," Cersei said.

"Who? Children fight, all right woman, I'll hear no more of it, waste my time for this," Robert huffed.

"I don't want your son near my children," Cersei said to Revka.

"Why? I didn't do anything wrong," Revion said.

People began to walk out of the courtyard, leaving just the Lannister guards and the Amell entourage.

"I don't understand why I'm in trouble, I didn't do anything wrong," Revion said.

"YOU HURT MY SON!" Cersei yelled.

"He has a cut, just a small cut that he's making too much of," the boy said, showing no fear, and no defiance either, he spoke as if simply speaking facts.

"Revion, that's enough, we should go."

"Something is wrong with your son," Cersei said to Revka.

Revka narrowed her eyes slightly, squeezing her hands into fists. She didn't take a deep breath, she simply stayed calm.

"Let us be thankful that things did not get worse," she said.

"Did you finish the book?" Revion asked Myrcella.

"She will not be reading any of the nonsense you fill your head with," Cersei said.

She took her children by their hands and dragged them away from the Amells. Revion looked up at Revka, still confused over what had happened.

'Revion, there are some things you can't understand, I don't think there is anything wrong with you. But others do, but if they believe something is wrong with you...my kind boy, then it shouldn't be difficult for them to see that there is something wrong with Joffrey. What child wants to kill someone?' she wondered, continuing to walk with her children.

The children slept peacefully in the night, even though there was some revelry going on. Baratheon men drank with Amell guards. Cersei slept in her chambers alone, and Robert took to bedding his whores. Jamie stood on the other side, listening to Robert dishonour his sister many times. He never appreciated her, not the way he did. Never had Jamie taken an interest in Joffrey, and today he was reminded why. He was not truly his nephew, nor was he truly his son.

'Could we be seeing the rise of a new mad king, has what applied to the Targaryens, applied to us as well sister?' Jamie wondered, but then shook the thoughts aside.

He thought of the fight itself, Joffrey showed utter incompetence in the fight. Revion did many things, many times, that should have made him vulnerable. As if he was uncaring of the danger. It was more than just a child's fearlessness, or ignorance of consequence. He truly didn't understand what was happening, the price for beating a prince. Or perhaps he did, and simply rejected it.

'The Amells are foolish, but very interesting people,' Jamie thought, smiling to himself.

Revka, Bella and Byron both walked through the corridors, in hoods and cloaks. They were carrying out a clandestine operation, nothing so ill as treason. But when they knocked on the door of their ally, they instead of looking forward, cast their eyes downwards.

"Ser, my ladies, come in quickly," said Tyrion Lannister.

The youngest son of Tywin, the 'dwarf' of the Lannisters. Though he was shorter than the true dwarves of Orzammar. He was also great company to have. The three Thedas natives hung up their cloaks and took seats in Tyrion's quarters. It was fancy, but nowhere near as well decorated as the royal quarters, or even the guest quarters. Tyrion was also dressed for bed, but in front of his bed were three cups and some jugs of wine. Byran produced from his cloaks two small barrels.

"Ale from Starkhaven, mead from Ferelden, I couldn't get my hands on the best stuff from Antiva," Byran said, putting both barrels on the floor.

"Its treason, treasonous for you to not give them to our king," Tyrion said.

"Let him keep his Westerosi piss, we'll drink the finer stuff," Bella said.

"Careful, Westerosi wine is good, I'd be happy to show you," Tyrion poured out the cups and gave them to his guests.

"What shall we play this time, drink and see who passes out first?" Revka asked.

"We all know Byran will win, the giant seems immune to spirits," Tyrion said.

"Actually last time, it was Bella who lasted the longest," Byran said.

"As much as I would like to see that, I propose a different game. Tests of character, I say something about you, if it's true you drink, if not, I drink," Tyrion explained.

"That's a game better played with strangers," Bella said.

"The voice of experience, I already know what to ask you," Tyrion smiled as he crossed his legs together and looked at Bella.

"Before you joined the chantry, you lived what they would have seen as a sinful life," he grinned as she took a sip from her wine.

Tyrion turned to Byran, who had poured himself the Starkhaven ale.

"You killed your first man when you were between ten and twelve," he said.

"Drink up Lannister," Byran smirked.

"You lie!"

"I was twenty one when I killed my first man, and believe it or not it was a complete accident."

"A story behind it, do tell," Tyrion said.

"Is that part of the game?" Byran asked.

"Oh yes, of course it is," Tyrion drank his cup, and did no protest when Byran poured ale into it.

"I was twenty one, I had been a black smith, a sailor, a tinker, and I was not simply born with a great skill for combat. I had been in my fair share of fist fights, but that's all they had been, I never held a sword with the intent to kill anyone. That was until I had a reason to kill someone, it was in Ferelden, I hunted a man down into the frost back mountains. I fully intended to stab the man to death, to see the reaction in his eyes as I took his life from him."

"When we met we got into a fight, he was better with a blade, but I was stronger and despite my size I had good balance on the snow. He knocked my blade out of my hand, and out of instinct I pushed him, the intent was to push him back. But he slipped, slid down a hill, and hit his head against a rock. When I got down to him, I had discovered that he had broken his neck. The man was dead, but disappointingly not in the way I hoped."

Despite the revelation, Tyrion still grinned as he made his next statement.

"You were taking revenge for a woman you loved."

Byran drank and said no more.

"We should try it with you," Revka said.

"You are welcome to my lady."

"Most of the women you sleep with are paid by you," Bella said.

"You've fantasised about killing someone very specific," said Byran.

"You loved someone once and you've never allowed yourself to love again," Revka stated, smirking as Tyrion took several gulps until his cup was empty.

"Hardly surprising revelations though, your turn my lady," Tyrion coughed, the ale stinging his throat, he sniffed the mead and closed his eyes, gushing over the honey taste. "This is something I've always known, the child in the circle, Daylen, he's not really your son. You found him on the streets, taking pity on the babe you took him in and raised him."

Revka did not smile and she did not drink. There was a quiet rage in her eyes that took Tyrion aback a bit.

"He is my son," she said.

"Apologies I overstepped my boundaries, I meant no offence," Tyrion said.

"That's all right Tyrion, say something else."

"I'd rather ask a question, the circle, it's simply a private school isn't it, it's not truly a place where children are kept away from their family forever, over fear of magic," there was a scoff in his voice.

He looked at the three, and saw no humour in their eyes.

"Keep the ale my lord, I think I will retire," Revka said.

"I as well, see you in the morning my lord."

Byran and Revka both walked away, leaving Bella with Tyrion. She tilted the contents of the wine down her throat, before refilling on ale.

"I did not mean to hurt them," Tyrion said.

"They know that. Mages from the Kirkwall circle often entertained at Aristide's mansion. But truly wondrous magic? The first time Revka saw that was the worst day of her life," Bella explained.

* * *

 **Daylen was Revka's pride and joy. Brilliant, but not stuck up about it. Quick to apologise if he made a mistake. When I saw Revka look at that child, I knew she was his mother. She read to him every night, comforted him when he cried, encouraged him when he tried. She was his mother, and he was his son.**

 **The Amells were at their peak, many said Aristide would become the next Viscount after Threnhold's fall. But not all was right in the city of chains. There still existed those whom were against the Chantry, loyalists of Threnhold's family, and those whom simply hated the chant and its hypocritical worshippers. Their sense of abandonment and rage turned into drastic actions.**

 **Daylen never seemed comfortably when in the chantry, but he put up with being there anyway. Revka and Fausten prayed for the new day, and I prayed too for many things. In attendance was the Knight-Lieutenant, soon to be Knight-Commander Meredith Stannard. She was firm in her belief, unrelenting in her conviction, and unforgiving when carrying out her duty. As the leader of the templars, and the friend of the Grand Cleric Elthina, she was an ideal leader until a new Viscount was found.**

 **The Threnhold loyalists broke through the main door to the chantry. Armed with clubs, swords, torches, they intended to kill everyone inside and burn the building to the ground. Meredith and her retinue of templars were the first into the fight. Fausten joined them with his sword, protecting his family. The loyalists were a mere mob, desperate men with no clear plan. They easily fell, but some grew lucky, and the innocent were unfortunate. Fausten became overwhelmed in the fight, multiple men managed to stab him in the back. When the last man fell, I heard this incredible scream.**

 **Revka ran to her father's side, cradling his body as he bled. He should have died, but in that moment a miracle occurred, even though others would have called it a curse. I looked to Daylen as he walked alone into the bloodshed. He looked at his grandfather's body and cried, many of the times he cried before were over childish things. This was the first time he was truly shedding tears.**

 **I could only imagine what went through the poor boy's mind. Seeing both his family members, once so strong, now so weak. Fausten, dead, Revka overwhelmed by grief. For probably the first and last time in his life I saw him put his hands together and pray. When he was met only with silence, that's when he spoke his mind.**

 **"Why, why aren't you answering? Why won't you do something, please, do something, please," the boy said, still crying.**

 **He fell to his knees and prayed, the blood of a nearby girl staining his clothes. Again and again he prayed, hitting the floor and yelling.**

 **"Why, if you really exist why don't you help people? So many people believe in you, sacrifice for you, but you do nothing? Why? WHY WONT YOU HELP!" I never heard a child scream like that.**

 **"I don't want him to die, I don't want him to die, I DON'T WANT HIM TO DIE!"**

 **He raised his head and screamed. Then the miracle occurred. Daylen's eyes let out this magnificent glow, the blood around him rose, then surged forth into Fausten's wounds. The blood of others refilled his, and stitched together his wounds. He let out a deep gasp, and looked at his surroundings in confusion. Then like so many others his eyes fell on Daylen, but unlike the others there was wonder in his eyes.**

 **Even as he looked at Daylen's eyes, and saw that the child's blue orbs had turned red.**

* * *

Tyrion sat speechless, unable to drink his wine. The Lannister saw the genuine grief in Bella's eyes, the tears she fought to hold back.

"He had used blood magic in a way no other mage had before, and he wasn't even a teenager as most mages were when their powers awakened. Meredith wanted to make him tranquil, to rob him of his free will and emotions. Revka would have gone to war with the templars if she had to, but Fausten compromised, he spoke with the Grand Cleric, Daylen was only a child, unaware of the consequences of using blood magic. But Daylen would have needed more, we couldn't allow him to be under Meredith's watchful eye, she would have demanded he be tested, sent into the fade, a mere child."

"It wasn't until Aristide spoke with the Grand Cleric and Meredith, that the best possible scenario was reached. At the time it would have been easier for Aristide to go along with the chantry, to disown his brother or convince him of the righteousness of their option, the mercy that was in it for the child and the people of Kirkwall. It was a scandal, a mage born to a family that was going to rule Kirkwall. A scandal he could have gotten in front of and painted in his favour."

"But Aristide wasn't a player of the game was he?" Tyrion asked.

"He played the game before, but he wasn't going to play it when it was his grand nephews life. Aristide sacrificed his chance to be Viscount, so that Daylen could grow up and train in a circle that wasn't going to be set against him. Daylen was put on a ship to Ferelden and that was that," Bella explained, drinking her ale.

"I don't think I know of a ruler who sacrificed power for even blood relatives, let alone an adopted child," Tyrion said.

"Daylen is Revka's son, he is an Amell," Bella said, looking at Tyrion defiantly.

"To the Amells," Tyrion raised his glass.

"To Daylen, and proving everyone wrong!"

* * *

 **"You are not a monster!"**

Daylen's eyes snapped open. He leant forward on his bed, sweating. Everyone else was asleep, comforted by their dreams.

'I envy them,' Daylen thought.

He sat on the edge of his bed, looking at the cut on his finger. His hand touched his face, running from his forehead and stopping around his nose. There were tears in his eyes that Daylen had been holding back for some time.

"Maker," he said. "If you really do exist, I hate you, I hate you more than anything. I asked for help, and this is what I get?"

Next Chapter 8: Hunters, Hermits and hurt things

* * *

Hope everyone enjoyed the chapter


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Age or Game of Thrones

* * *

House Amell of Westeros

Chapter 8: Hunters, Hermits and hurt things

Hunting, Robert Baratheon's favourite pass time. Or rather one of his pass times, as opposed to attending a small council meeting, he was out in the wilderness chasing boars and stags. Byran had to shake his head at the stag king's antics. Robert was a good hunter, that Byran didn't doubt. But he approached it like a game, like sport, revelling in the possibility of chasing the creature down and spearing it. He detested bows and Byran struggled to wonder why? Why the hatred of ranged weaponry, it was a smart way to fight. Byran could see people employing long range fighting more in the future, even developing it.

'We humans always perfect new ways to take life,' Byran thought as Robert speared a boar through the chest.

The royal family and their guests ate the animal over lunch. Despite the time, Robert drank a lot of mead and ale. He was loud and boisterous, and piled his plate with food. It was as if the man's only pleasure was stuffing his face and filling himself with drink. The sight astonished some of the Amell children, whom weren't used to living in excess. Byran could tell that Dayla hated the dress she had been put in, the fine decorations on it, the silk on her skin, looking glamorous. She was a girl, but a girl who despised what people thought made girls, girls. Revion sat furthest away from the royal family, almost alone, which seemed to suit the boy. He observed everything, his expression impassive, he was the only one who seemed indifferent to Robert's gluttony.

Then there was Dayk, the youngest of the Amells. He showed his fear of this strange place and the stranger people. Every time he was spoken to, there was a panic in his eyes. Dayk often looked to his mother, Byran suspected he would do it less as he got older. But a part of him would always seek his mother's help, or her favour. Revka was the attraction of many knights, all looking to claim a marriage from her and have 'legitimate' Westerosi children as heirs to the Meadow. She was polite with them, but would not give in to their flirtations or attempts to win her heart. Her heart had already been won by another, a long time ago.

"The knight of particular skills, come, come, DRINK AND BE MERRY!" the king yelled, slapping Byran's back. "The imp tells me you are a strong drinker, come drink with me, see who can last longest," Robert explained, pouring wine into Byran's cup.

"I fear I have you at a disadvantage your grace," Byran said.

Robert hung his head back and laughed.

"Then we must test ourselves another way, Revka, which of your children knows magic?" Robert asked.

Revka looked to the king, and then at each of her children.

"Could it be strong Dayla? No, not a woman, not a woman, a man yes, a man can be a wizard," Robert slurred as he walked around the table, eying both Dayk and Revion. "Revion, you're always reading books, are they your spell books?"

Stannis looked at his brother with contempt. It was an embarrassment to see him act in such a way.

"Or perhaps it is timid Dayk, do you have the secrets of magic in you, a test, burn the boar, burn it everyone's finished, seven hells burn the potatoes, burn the grain, BURN IT ALL! BURN THE WHOLE TABLE!" Robert yelled. "MORE WINE! PLAY SOMETHING FOR US!"

He was trying to turn a simple lunch into a banquet, and then a banquet into a party. The bards played a little something with their lute and flutes. It was no grand song to boast of, but it sated Robert's desires for now. He would have more desires that night, and it drew a smirk from Littlefinger. The lord became the subject of one of Dayla and Byran's conversations. They had been walking in the hallways, exploring the keep when Dayla made the conversation.

"Why do they call him Littlefinger uncle Byran?" she asked.

Byran smiled at the girl's name for him. She called him, Stone, Stork, even Ulrich and Darius her uncles. And even Ulrich loved the girl like she was their own.

"Baelish is from a place called the Fingers, and apparently he was quite small growing up," Byran said.

"That isn't hard to imagine, he looks a bit ferrety," Byran laughed at her comment.

"It was something Brynden Tully called him."

"The Black fish?"

"Yes, the Tully Black Fish, are you all right?" Byran asked her.

"I don't want mummy to be upset, she enjoys talking about big brother Day, but when she finishes, I can tell how upset she is. I know she loves him more than us!"

Byran knelt in front of the girl, gripping her shoulders.

"Your mother loves you all very much, she has no favourite, no mother does," he said to her.

"Queen Cersei does," Dayla pouted as she spoke.

"What makes you say that?" Byran asked.

"She plainly makes clear how much more she loves Joffrey over Myrcella," she said.

"It's a little different, I imagine Joffrey gets into more trouble than Myrcella, he needs someone to worry about him more," Byran explained.

"Kind of like how mother spends more time with Dayk than us?" Dayla asked.

"Yes, in a way," Byran said, suddenly lifting the girl on his shoulders.

"Yay, giddyup," Dayla screamed in delight as Byran trotted down the corridors.

He increased his speed, Dayla gripping the sides of his head as he ran. Castle servants and guards looked at them in shock when they ran past. Even the delightful sounds of a child playing, seemed a foreign concept to them. Such was the mark that the mad king, and even his predecessor, the stag king had left on the keep. Tyrion had been walking along when they passed him. He watched them ride and his smile matched theirs.

The older of the Lannister brother's, was savouring his off duty hours. Usually he would have taken advantage of Robert's whoring, to visit his sister, or train. Instead he watched Revion, the eldest Amell and heir equivalent, in the event Damion never returned. He snorted to himself because he couldn't stand the idea of thinking as his father did. Tywin was a man who always had a plan, if he was to foster Revion, it would only be to get the Meadow. Instead he watched Revion, the eldest son of Revka, the boy of potential. He watched him swing a wooden sword in the garden. It wasn't a child playing, every swing was with his full strength, and there was a focus in his eyes Jamie remembered having only when he was a couple of years older than Revion.

'A warrior, I have no doubt that Revion Amell will be a warrior, or perhaps he wishes to be a hero,' Jamie thought, remembering the books the boy read.

He had a small pile of books beside him. The collection of the tales of Duncan the Tall, titled _'A knight of the seven kingdoms'_ , _'Fire and blood'_ the history of the Targaryen dynasty. _'Blackfyre'_ the dramatic recounting of the Blackfyre rebellion, during which bastards of Aegon IV the Unworthy attempted to take the throne. _The rogue prince, or a king's brother',_ detailed the life ofthe rogue gold cloak commander Daemon Targaryen. And of course _'Dance of the Dragons'_ , detailed the war of succession between Aegon II and his half sister Rhaenrya.

'Tales of knights and kings, and of war, those books are quite advanced for a boy his age,' Jamie remembered how his own father forced him to read such books, just as he had forced him to read.

Revion adjusted the grip on his sword and began practicing thrusts. Not lunges, which tend to put all your weight into it, but thrusts. He adjusted the grip on his sword to hold what would have been the blade. Half swording, using the pommel as a club to batter armour. Revion was perhaps repeating what he had seen other fighters practice, and Jamie wondered if he understood the tactics behind such techniques.

"Impressive isn't he?"

Jamie looked down, grinning at his brother. His father and sister despised him, but Jamie loved every member of his family, even his dwarf brother. They stood side by side watching the Amell boy shift from training, to reading.

"I was ashamed to miss him humbling our beloved prince," Tyrion said.

"Joffrey was far from humbled," Jamie added.

"True, he and our sister don't seem to have figured out the hidden lessons in such things."

"What lessons? Keep your guard up?" Jamie asked, drawing a chuckle from Tyrion.

"Reign your mood in, I can imagine what father would say if he saw them."

"A Lannister does not concern himself with the opinions of the sheep," both brothers said, and laughed together.

"Still, when Joffrey over reacts, threatens to kill someone, opinions about him become fact," Jamie said.

"Afraid our beloved prince will become another mad king?" Tyrion asked.

"Careful brother, that's treasonous!"

"You wound me brother, you know nothing matters to me more than family," Tyrion said.

Both brothers looked towards Revion again, surprised that he had suddenly begun reading the history of the Targaryens. But at the same time he was swinging the wooden sword with his left hand. Tyrion stifled a laugh as the boy awkwardly tried turning a page with his teeth and tongue. The Lannister brothers exchanged glances, both smirking as they walked around the railing and towards the Amell boy.

"Someone is clearly trying to live up to Arthur Dayne's reputation," Jamie said, smiling as Revion put the stick and book down.

'The sword of the mourning, who could have slain all five warriors with his left hand, whilst taking a piss with his right,' he fondly remembered the greatest knight in the seven kingdoms.

"A good day my lords," Revion bowed his head.

"And a good book, a shame our nephew won't read it," Tyrion sighed, picking up the book whilst Jamie picked up the sword.

"Swinging a sword is good exercise, but hardly practice, here, show me your stance," Jamie commanded, throwing the sword into Revion's hand.

"I meanwhile will test you, true or false, Maegor Targaryen was known as Maegor the younger because he was the younger brother of Aenys the first?" Tyrion looked through the book, walking around Revion as he got into a stance.

Jamie lightly kicked Revion's legs, adjusting his pose.

"False," Revion said, looking at Tyrion with uncertain eyes.

"Correct, what moniker did Maegor have?" Tyrion asked.

"The first?"

His question made both Lannisters laugh.

"He has you there brother, Maegor was known as the cruel, you have a good grip, but what are you doing with this hand? Keep it guarded, or at your hip, otherwise you're likely to lose it," Jamie explained.

"Now, now brother, Revion may be best suited for using two swords," Tyrion said.

"I never understood some people's desire to carry two swords, you're more likely to lose one."

"Not if you're using both," Revion said.

Tyrion nodded his head, turning to another page.

"Baelor the Blessed walked into a pit of snakes, not one bit him, true or false?"

"Wait that's impossible, a snake would eventually bite you for crossing its path."

"I agree brother, the book probably says Baelor's holiness kept him safe from harm," Jamie said.

Tyrion sheepishly shut the book and turned to another one. As the Lannister brothers played with the Amell child, they were watched by Revka, who smiled. Fausten often played the role of both grandfather and father to her children. She knew they needed other role models, and in Westeros, Revka could think none better than the brothers Lannister. Honest and honourable, but not to a fault as some men were. Stannis and Eddard with their unflinching honour, they were good for trying to be good. But in their goodness there was evil as well. There were certain acts that Stannis and Eddard would not hesitate to permit, and call them right.

Jamie and Tyrion however, they acknowledged everything that was wrong with the world. Just as Revka did, just as her father did, and she was sure her brother had now.

* * *

The desert was unforgiving, and Damion had lost some of his charges already. Sadly the old couldn't take the heat, the sun was their worst enemy. Though they fought long and hard, each step a defiant blow against the sun, they still died. Damion loved them for their determination, even in the absence of hope they tried to be free. Even sadder too were the children's deaths. There was the unfortunate ignorance some of them had, poisoned by scorpions and snakes.

But even children and the old lasted longer than the ignorant. Longer than those who didn't heed Damion's advice. Those who went too far ahead and got lost in the sands, those who overexerted themselves running to freedom. There was a common misinterpretation that deserts were constantly hot. Some 'parts' of the desert were hotter than others, where the sun shined the brightest. People were surprised when walking bare foot, when they found patches of sand that didn't make their feet feel as if they were burning.

The most dangerous of times had been the nights. That was when the biggest and deadliest surprise of the desert claimed lives. At night, the desert could be as cold as the North, by the first night a couple had died in their sleep, believing a night uncovered would do them good when the sun rose. They had frozen to death, and had barely been acknowledged. Damion would bow his head to them, but the tears had to be saved for when they were safe, and even then his own would have to be shed in private.

"A leader must appear strong, unyielding, if his people see his hope wane, there's will follow," he remembered his father told him.

"Win first, cry later," Stork had literally bashed the lesson into him, the usually reserved elf man hid a fury greater than Stone's.

Those who survived the trials of the desert came out harder, stronger, and Damion didn't doubt that they would fight for their freedom if need be. Men and women alike took up the spear, children learnt how to survive, and the hardened elders that had survived carried their weight and more. That wasn't to say though that the group had been helpless without Damion before. There had been a Dalish elf, a Sabrae clan member if Damion's knowledge of their tattoos was correct. He had taught some of them how to turn stones into the sharpest of blades, as well as the dangers of the creatures in the sand.

Damion hadn't gotten to learn that elf's name, the man had been lost when a sand storm erupted on the fourth day. That was when Damion made the effort to know every companion he travelled with, those who had much to learn and those who were already capable. Ozgur Adam was one of those capable men, in another language it apparently meant 'Free man'. It was a name he hadn't taken until Damion freed him.

"One can claim more from a scorpion than poison," Adam had told them.

Rather than eat the horse meat, he knifed a scorpion, yanked off the tail and pincers and bit into the flesh. There was meat to be had from the creatures, and Adam had an encyclopaedic knowledge of the animals one could eat and not eat. He stripped the scales off of snakes, replenishing the food when the horses were long dead. Adam carried himself like a warrior too, he was no bulking mass of muscle, but he had the build of someone who had both fought and laboured. The man was fast too, he ran ahead often and always came back.

"I suspect he's an Unsullied," rumours came from the mouth of a dwarf.

This dwarf was a 'duster', born and marked with ink to show the world he was born in a ghetto. He was without caste, but rare for a dwarf he was a good hunter, a great shot with a bow. Helgumin was his name, and though he had skill he did not have knowledge. On the fifth day Adam had proven his rumour mongering wrong, the man pissed. What was known about Adam was that he was a native of the region, his skin tone indicated as much, as well as his accent.

"I was Dothraki," he revealed on the seventh night.

His head was shaved, showing no evidence of ever having a braid. When Adam made his revelation he did so proudly. Not proud of what he was, but what he had stopped being.

"Whatever you were before, whatever any of us were before, we are now one another's people," said the beauty of the desert.

She was intended to be sold as a whore, but she was no whore. Raina was slender, fit, a woman who could fight to survive. A woman who would be no man's woman. More and more Damion found himself attracted to her, thankful for his armour whenever she was around. She had a way with words that Damion was thankful for, often she inspired others to go onwards, to keep following him, their saviour.

He was thankful for all three when the hunters caught up with them, on the eighth day. On the desert they fought, spread apart, each taking an opponent. Damion had proven himself the greatest threat, but when he looked at Adam he saw not a hunter, but a warrior greater than himself. Adam flawlessly moved, tackling men, knifing their throats, taking their curved blades and parrying. He killed three men in five seconds, taking their weapons and making them his own. A bow he used to snipe the approaching hunters, a curved sword he used with the skill expected of a Dothraki, and a spear he threw with such accuracy, that Damion suspected he had surpassed his father. Helgumin fought with dagger and stone, bashing heads until they were mush in the sand. He was angry from his captivity, and would not be caged again. Raina too was a surprising fighter, and seeing the way she moved Damion immediately knew the kind she was. An assassin, the kind that if seduction failed, would brutalise a target's guards before savagely killing them.

Though not trained, the other free slaves were angry, and when they took up the fallen weapons, on the ninth day, the second group of hunters fell. They had been riding fast across the desert, they were tired, had been expecting an easy fight. But the free men and women of Damion's party did not make it easy, they fought with all their hatred and all the grit they had gained from days of hard travelling. They had become survivors, willing to fight for their freedom.

It was the eleventh day, and the sands hit hard. The members of the caravan shielded their faces with scarves, hoods and cloaks, and their bare hands. Desperate, they fell into the shelter of a cave. What a cave it was, it seemed the perfect shelter, too perfect. There was a stench in the air that invaded the noses of even the young. Some kind of rotting, flesh, blood and shit. There was an ominous feeling within the cave and though they were sheltered none felt safe.

"We need to stay close to the exit, do not drift ahead Thedosian," Adam said to Damion.

"Whatever is in this cave, if it is a threat to us, we need to kill it," Damion retorted.

He drew his sword, kept his shield at the ready and walked into the caves. Behind him walked Raina, and he thanked her for it. They marched slowly ahead, Raina behind Damion at all times, her hands on his back. The cave was large, one could call it a building imbedded in the ground. They came to a corridor above their heads were fossils, the intricate bones of a rib cage that belonged to a beast long dead. As they advanced, the smell got stronger, and the sight of rotting flesh and bones greeted them. Snakes and other scaled creatures crawled down the corridor, or formed tight packs, watching the two advance.

"Maker, shield me from flames," Damion found himself praying.

"I don't think that is the verse," Raina said.

"Maybe not, but it feels better than staying quiet."

They came upon a crack, where light shined through it, specks of sand also drifted into the cave. Damion turned around and followed Raina's gaze to look up at the light. He then looked at her, her green eyes, her black hair, her tanned skin. She truly was beautiful to him.

"What will you do with your freedom?" he asked her.

"What have you done with yours?" her reply took him aback.

"I don't know what to do with freedom, I try to tie myself to something, to family, to the code of a knight, to a king, it makes me wonder whether we are truly free."

"Before men tried to make a slave of me, I sought guidance, the seven pointed star gave me nothing, the old gods never answered me. The closest I came to peace was in the service of the lord of light. There was magic in that order, a great wonder, and a promise greater than what the seven offered. All were loved by the lord of light, there were clear goals. A lord of light and love, and a lord of death and darkness," Raina explained.

"Good and evil basically," Damion said.

"That's what I believed at first, but then something happened, they sacrificed someone. Fire they say is a life bringer, but I have seen more death with fire than life, and that's what they used it for, death not life. They took a man who didn't believe, and purified him, by burning him to death. They said they saw his soul rise up from the flames, I saw nothing. I smelt plenty, rotting flesh, the dung when he shat himself, and then I heard the screams."

"A priestess explained to me that fire was the purest of deaths, that mothers screamed when they gave birth. She truly believed what she said, I didn't stop fantasising that night about burning her alive. That's when I began to think that; perhaps this lord they worshipped wasn't the lord of light. Or maybe they were like the Septons, using a made up religion for their own gain."

She stopped talking, seemingly finished. Damion let out a chuckle, despite the severity of what she had just spoken of.

"My nephew once asked my father a very good question once, he asked him 'aren't all religions made up?' When my father said that the religion was formed from the teachings of Andraste, my nephew sceptically said 'so an all powerful god suddenly spoke one day, and to one person, isn't that insanity?' My father laughed and told him what he told me. That isn't the point of faith, it doesn't have to be true, it doesn't have to be explained or understood. You're not meant to understand it or explain it, that's why its faith."

After he had finished talking, they turned to continue their search.

"Your nephew, what was his name?" Raina asked.

"Daylen," Damion smiled as he thought of his sister's beloved distant son.

They came to a clearing, like a grand hallway, and in the middle of it was a construct of bones. Lizard, snake, rat, bird, all manner of creatures had been piled on top of one another. The stench of dead flesh and shit had filled the air around Raina and Damion. He kept his sword at the ready as he heard a crunching sound. Then the clatter of bone, Damion raised his sword as he approached the mound of bones and shit, he looked at the bone that had fallen and saw that it was the skull of a lizard.

"Who is there?" a dried out, croak of a voice inquired.

Cautiously Damion and Raina walked around the mound. He who sat on the mound raised his arms in fear. 'He' was the best turn, he looked like a man, sounded like one too. But whoever he was he was aged, skin bony and brown on one side. Rags of black covered most of his body, including a hood for his face. Withered silver strands of hair poked out of the hood, and through it Damion could see that one part of the man's face had scales on it. His pupils were also narrow, like a reptile's eyes.

"Who are you, why are you here?" the hermit asked.

On his exposed arms, Damion could see a multitude of age related sags, warts, but also burns and scales.

"What are you?" Damion demanded, pointing his sword at the half creature.

"Just someone who has spent many years away from the world, a mere hermit now, you see what I look like, unless the world has changed, has it?" there was the smallest hope in the hermit's voice.

"I am afraid though the cities have grown and kings have changed, people have not," Damion hated being the one to shatter hope, but he had told enough lies in his lifetime.

"I see, sadly expected," there was a betrayal in the hermit's voice, the pitch of a younger man, and the tone of a more bitter one.

He leant forward, revealing the slight hunch, age related, in his back. His hand motioned to the cane at his side and Damion nodded keeping his sword in front as the hermit took the cane and stood. He leant against the cane with both hands, legs shaking as he took a few steps away from the mound. The hermit looked at Damion, his sword, his hair and eyes, and his armour.

"Are you from Thedas?" he asked.

"Thedas was where I was born," Damion said.

"What brings someone from that wondrous place to this despicable one?" again the hermit's voice betrayed him.

But then he coughed, a dry one that made him sound more like a creature than an old man.

"How I wish I could leave this place, but alas there is nothing for me," the frailty returned as he lowered his head.

"I went first to Westeros, then came here to make a name for myself, now my company and I seek only shelter until the storm passes," Damion explained.

"To Westeros, did the dragons once again instigate a war?" the hermit asked.

"There was a war, but the dragons are gone now, the last king Aerys Targaryen, second of his name fell to his own kings guard," Damion said.

The hermit let out a cackle as he stepped back.

"What was crowned after, wolves? lions perhaps?"

"Robert Baratheon now rules."

"A stag? Interesting, this may seem a odd question, but how many kings were since Daeron the second of his name?" the hermit took a few steps closer, his eyes bearing both desperation and intrigue.

"Since Daeron the good," Damion stopped for a moment, as the hermit scoffed in disgust. "There has been Aerys first of his name, Maekar first of his name, Aegon the unlikely, Jaehaerys second of his name, and Aerys the mad king," he explained.

"Five dragons kings is what it took the end them, and what of their reigns, what became of the nine kingdoms during that time?" the hermit asked as he sat at a stone, inviting Damion and Raina to do the same.

Damion sat and told him of the reigns of each king, many of them lasting twenty years at best, none of them being without troubles or tragedy. He noticed that the hermit had very sharp teeth, and he kept his sword rested on his shoulder. There was a smile on the hermit's face, the smallest hint of one every time he spoke of the death or downfall of a Targaryen king.

"So the mad king wished to use wildfire to fill the void left by the loss of the dragons? He truly was mad then, and for his reign to have ended in such a way, karma at its best I suppose," the hermit explained.

"What do you know the Targaryens?" Damion asked.

"Only that they are false, they whom believed they brought peace and civility to the nine kingdoms, I wager that the mad king's surviving sadly live under the same delusion," the hermit took a snake from the ground, allowed it to bite his hand, before he bit into it.

The snake curled around, biting at the scales through the hermit's hood, but still the hermit bit down, until the snake stopped moving altogether. He kept on chewing on the raw meat, biting through the bones and all.

"Forgive me, it has been sometime since I had company, yours will need food, you may take as many of the creatures in the cave as you can carry. Consider it a gift for your brief companionship," the hermit bowed his head, matching Damion's bow.

"Thank you sir, might I ask your name?"

"I have no name, I am a bastard," the hermit said.

"You still have a name, mine is Damion," Damion said.

"I thank you for your kindness, but it is a name I wish to forget, please, take comfort where you can until the storm has passed, then be swift and leave this wretched place Damion."

"Thank you, lord of the cave," Damion sheathed his sword, stood up and bowed.

The hermit huffed as Damian and Raina stepped back. Eventually turning and walking back down the tunnel. Their host stepped off of his throne, limping by his cane towards one of the walls. He raised one of his hands out of its sleeve, dragging the nail across the wall. The mark was one of thousands, days, adding up to months, to years, to centuries.

Only a night went by, the people Damion freed never went near their host. They skinned and ate snakes, and slept peacefully, waiting through the night. Moonlight shined through the gaps in the cave, illuminating Damion's sleeping form. Raina looked down at him, seeing him thrash around from a nightmare. When he woke, she did not laugh or judge, but she did ask him what he saw. With a heavy heart he answered.

"Something haunts us Amells, not a curse but a concern. There comes many times in which we wonder what has become of what we love, of who we love," he said.

"Who was it?" she asked.

"A boy, his name was Daylen, he had the hopes and dreams of many. The pride of a mother whom loved him more than life, the hope of a grandfather whom never achieved what he wanted, and the expectations of so many servants who believed he would be great," Damion explained.

"What did he have from you?" Raina inquired, shuffling closer to Damion.

"From his uncle he had nothing, a dream of him is all I have, a dream of what could have been," Damion said.

"Tell me of it!"

The tears had welled in Damion's eyes before, but he released all of his frustration, and the tears.

"The war should never have happened, it was because of two people's love for one another, if they had never-never done what they had done, so many-so many people would be alive right now," he crashed his fist against the rock, not caring that it hurt. "Daylen should not have been a mage, he shouldn't have been locked up in a tower, he should have been an adventurer, or have been allowed to come with us."

"Every night I see the man he could have grown into, a courageous man, a good man, a man who would always fight for what was right. I see that every night, what could have been, what should have been. Daylen Amell, the one who made his mother proud, the one who fulfilled his grandfather's dreams, the one who his uncle could have known and have been proud of too, and could have trusted his own dreams to him."

"But we can't have that," he shook his head. "Because the gods are unjust, they demand and demand and demand of us, as if mere existence is enough. Or perhaps there is no god, and that is why all our prayers are left unanswered, and the world is so cruel and dark."

Silence passed between them. For that moment, Damion dreaded and cursed himself. He believed for but a moment he had offended Raina in some way, or she could not bear the weight of his feelings. He couldn't sleep again with that knowledge, Raina herself only looked at the moonlight. Then when the light illuminated them both together, she looked at him and gave him her feelings.

"I served Rh'llor because I needed to eat, I began to worship Rh'llor because I believed. Then I hated Rh'llor and those whom served him, because I would see them smile as people were burned. Before I realised they were mistaken in Rh'llor's will, a priestess whose name escapes me, called upon me. She had had her way with a young boy, his first time and he was ensnared by her, rightly so, she had an incredible body, hair kissed by fire. But when she had called upon me, his hands were bound. She made me watch as she put leeches onto his chest, even on his foreskin."

Damion winced, and he could see she struggled to recount the story. But still she spoke, sharing with him what she feared, and hoped.

"She took his blood, and cast the leeches into a fire. Then she held my face to it and made me watch the leeches burn. They sizzled and burned, and when I smelt the vapours, and looked into the fire, I saw something. A vision, connected to the boy's bloodline. I saw a great war, between monsters and men. Monsters that spread a great corruption across the land, the shadow of a dragon marching with them. These images terrified me, yet there was nothing on the priestesses face. It was only when I saw a brief light in the darkness, that the woman was terrified."

"What I saw as hope incarnate, she saw as true evil. There was darkness around what I saw, over who I saw, a corruption that was much like what the monsters spread. Yet, as the man of darkness fought the monsters, people began to join him. A giant, a hound, a dwarf, a knight, an elf, a witch, a healer, an assassin and a golem. Armies gathered around the man of darkness, armies of mages, armies of knights, of elves and dwarves. They pushed back the darkness, even as the knight left the man of darkness's side, and he was joined by a lord."

"There was a smile on the priestess's face when the dragon came. The dragon, enveloped by darkness, much like the man. But there was no light, only flames. There was however a light on the man, the light of his eyes. Red lights that flared as he summoned fire and jumped towards the beast. The vision passed and she told me that light can appear in even the most evil of creatures, it is this light that makes them true harbingers of the Other. It was clear to me that her interpretation of the man was that he would pull aside barriers and accomplish things no servant of Rh'llor could, that scared her I think."

"I believed differently however, I believe that what the vision means is that, hope can come from unexpected places. Someone can envelop themselves in darkness, become what others see as monstrous, but so long as there is that single light inside them, that light that drives them forward, this willingness to keep that light even as they run into darkness, I believe that they will save others from the darkness. Good men will bear the burden of bad things, if it means saving everyone else."

When Raina had finished, Damion saw Eddard and Howland had done, even the stand Arthur Dayne made against them, in an entirely new light. He saw her again, Lyanna, lying on her bed, blood on her chest. Eddard had cast aside his prize Dawn and rushed to Lyanna's side. She had been so frightened, and Ned reassured her, knowing she would die. She was a far cry from the strong she-wolf that Damion had heard of. When the sisters put the child in Eddard's arms, Damion knew then what had happened.

'Promise me Ned,' she had told him.

Robert would have seen Rhaegar's child, not Lyanna's. Tywin would have seen a target, or a tool, not a baby. Eddard would have seen a child, a child he would fight everyone else to protect, and the North would follow their lord. The flames of war would have spread again. So the boy became Ned's bastard, the single lie, that would save both the child and the realm.

"Thank you," Damion said to Raina.

She looked at him, confused for a moment. But then she smiled warmly as he took her hand.

"Thank you for showing me the light in the darkness," he said, leaning forward to kiss her.

Their lips locked gently, and Raina cupped his cheeks as he rubbed her back. They separated for but a moment, taking one another in, seeing if it was what the other wanted. Seeing no doubt in each other's eyes, they cast aside their pain and passionately embraced, kissing, pulling away the barriers between them. They made love in the moonlight, their hurts forgotten.

At least for that moment.

Next Chapter 9: Mothers and lords

* * *

Hope everyone enjoyed the chapter.

PS: I imagined Adam to look and sound like Arnold Vosloo


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I don't own Game of Thrones or Dragon Age

* * *

House Amell of Westeros

Chapter 9: Mothers and lords

After the day of revelry and hunting, came the quiet night. A night Revka took to star gazing, imagining every little light in the darkness, to be another world. She enjoyed such things, just as Daylen had in the brief time they had together. Along with the stars she had her carving knife and a block of wood. With the lantern nearby, she began to carve a griffon figure for Myrcella. She noticed a candle approaching, and bowed her head upon seeing it was Cersei. Gone was her jewerly and red dress, replaced by a night gown.

"That's good craftsmanship," Cersei said.

"They happened you know, the Blights, Griffons and Garahel was an elf," Revka said.

"Revka, have you ever seen a Darkspawn before?" the queen asked.

"No I haven't your grace, but I've met Grey Wardens, I've seen how haunted their eyes are, when they tell us about Darkspawn, their eyes are always truthful," Revka explained.

"There are no monsters underground, waiting for the chance to destroy us. The monsters are the ones we aren't told about as children, the Dothrakis, the Wildlings, the people waiting to stab us in the dark!"

"Then perhaps I should be careful, can I expect one for what happened yesterday?" Revka asked, a small smirk crossing her face.

Cersei too smirked, but genuinely amused by Revka's humour. She set her candle down, and sat on the perch next to Revka, admiring the detail on the griffon, before looking at Revka herself. The Amell heiress's beauty was incomparable to her own, but she was beautiful. Her face had such beauty when she smiled, and strength when she protected her children. In that regard Cersei could compare them, their bodies however were different. As a child, Cersei trained to match Jamie's physique. Then her father put a stop to it, gave her a fixed diet and instructions. No wife could have strength of body. Revka did however, and her hands, cut from working on the fields and with wood. They were the hands of someone who had been allowed to work, to gain their own merits.

Then there were her eyes, when she looked up at the stars there was wonder in them. But also sadness, as if she was mourning for a time that could have been. Cersei had seen those same eyes in her mirror, every day since her first born had been taken from her. She had heard many rumours about Daylen Amell. That she was the bastard child of a man from Tevinter, thus explaining his magic, or one of the monstrous ox-men, for his skin tone and hair. Or he was a found child, the only survivor of a fire, a miracle that had ensnared Fausten Amell, and later his daughter, whom fed the child and loved him like her own. But such a thing was not possible, no one would mourn a child taken in from pity, not when they had their own true children. No, Daylen was Revka's true born son, anything else was unacceptable to Cersei.

"Does it get easier?" she asked.

Revka looked at Cersei for a moment, seeing the rare vulnerability in Cersei's eyes.

"The pain I feel is not the same as the pain you are in your grace, what was done to you, what was taken from you. It is something I would not wish on anyone, it is a pain I can only imagine and never hope to truly understand. My son is still alive your grace, the laws of our home took him from us, but he is very much alive, with the possibility of making a life for himself," Revka explained.

"But he has been robbed of the fortune that was his, put into a life of service," Cersei said.

"It is not death, and we have never had power, nor any desire to not serve others. The lord serves the crown, and his people, that is what my father told me. When it is said 'for the good of the realm' it must always be said for the people of that realm. I admire you greatly your grace."

"Truly?"

"Yes, for you to have gone through such a thing, and to raise your two children, it shows the signs of someone who has strength," Revka said.

"I see that same strength in you with your children," said Cersei, smiling at Revka.

"You are most kind your grace, I apologise for the other day, Revion's intention was truly to help Prince Joffrey, he would have done him no favours to hold back," she explained.

"I see that now, I do not want my son to be a warrior, I want him to be a king," Cersei said.

"Yes, but if you want peace, you should prepare for war," Revka said, and the queen nodded her head.

"You should," she said.

The queen of Westeros and the Lady of the Meadow, shared one final moment of understanding.

* * *

When morning came, the queen was not in bed with her husband. Stannis stood over his hung over brother, the man's growing belly rising with every snore.

"Robert, Robert," Stannis called out to him, tugging his blanket.

"Leave me in peace brother," Robert snorted as he spoke, turning onto his side.

"Arryn is gathering the small council, you should be in attendance," the king let out a growl as he pulled his blankets back on.

"I said LEAVE ME GODS DAMNED YOU! Leave it all to Arryn, give him the blasted crown for all I care," Robert said.

Stannis grit his teeth together, fuming as he turned to the door. He slammed it shut behind him, ignoring the bowing kings guards as he stormed to the tower of the hand. Robert had kept drinking through the earlier day, through the night, dishonouring his wife many times. The small council meeting was his idea, one that Stannis now cursed himself for taking seriously. Everyone else had arrived at seven in the morning, and waited hours for the king to arrive.

'I have tried brother, I truly have,' Stannis shook his head, he had slept well, but he was still tired.

The council members were sat at their seats when Stannis arrived. He shook his head, the only signal they needed to know that, as usual, the king would not be in attendance. Stannis sat between Jon and Renly, the latter yawning, having gone on late in the night himself.

"Regretfully the king cannot join us, but we are here at his service, and the realm's service, Lord Baelish, has the coffers suffered for the revelry over the past few days?" Arryn asked.

"It would have, but surprisingly merchants from the Meadow provided us with many of the food and entertainment, at a reduced price I might add," Baelish explained.

"I feel like we should have paid them more, I may hire their bards for the balls I'll hold in the Stormlands," Renly added.

"Em, although if I may my lords, I do believe the food may be what has em-incapacitated our king, my own stomach has suffered," Maestar Pycelle said.

"Your stomach hasn't suffered at all grand Maestar, and it was our king's gluttony that has put him bed this morning," Stannis explained.

"What is this problem you have with the Meadow Pycelle, or is it a problem you have with the Amells?" Arryn asked.

Pycelle nervously looked at the other councillors as they turned to him. Baelish and Varys both had expectant smirks across their faces. The Baratheon brothers looked as if they were both judging a criminal, whilst the hand seemed like the reasonable man, searching for answers. Varys and Baelish already knew the truth of it, Pycelle did not trust foreigners or those of common origins.

"My lords, it has come to my attention...em I mean I noticed you see, that there is an improper relationship between the Amells and their servants. Lady Amell herself has stated that her children are not of true birth, yet the king has allowed them to bear the Amell name, she remains unmarried, it would not surprise me if she had simply laid with a common vagabond at a tavern," Pycelle explained.

"Lady Amell is of noble birth and has so far displayed the qualities befitting the term nobility," Arryn said.

"I must agree somewhat with the Grand Maestar, they do tend to regard their servants as more like friends," Baelish said.

"That simply means they are loyal to one another," Renly said.

"Gentlemen please, I did not bring us here to discuss our opinions of the Amells, they are a noble family, they swore fealty to the king and they have so far ruled over the Meadow well," Arryn explained.

Each of the lords bowed their heads in complete understanding, Pycelle himself looking slightly hurt by the dismissal of his concerns. He removed a few parchments from his robes and began to read through them.

"A message from the Knights Watch, they recently lost several men to raids and are requesting additional recruits," he said.

"Send ravens across the country, the knight's watch has stood guard over the North for many ages, we need to keep the castles manned," Jon explained.

"Not all of the castles are up to par, and not many lords are willing to part with their sons, what of the cells?" Stannis asked, turning to Renly.

"I haven't really checked them, I assume anyone who isn't willing to take the black loses a hand," he said.

"Ensure that the city guard offers them the choices, pay the penalty under law, or take the black," Stannis said, frowning at his younger brother's lack of knowledge of his duty.

"We need to reinforce this point with the other lords, we also need to do what we can for the castles," Arryn explained.

"With respect my lord, not many are prepared to spend money on an endeavour that will see no return of investment, and we need engineers who would brave the journey to the north," Baelish explained.

"The dwarves would, and they have an expertise for manipulating stone," Varys suggested.

"From my experience with dwarves, they are greedy, they'd ask for more than our own engineers would pay, and that would be just to get them out of their mountains," Renly explained.

"Quality work sometimes has a high price," Stannis said.

"But this may be too much of a cost my lord, we would have to pay the dwarves, pay for transportation and protection of the gold to their homes in the mountains, and protection and transportation to the wall. Rebuilding simply one castle will cost too much, we would have to borrow from the iron bank, or other families, with no way to repay the debt because, there is no return of investment in paying for a castle that may never be attacked."

Baelish's explanation left both Varys and Stannis frowning. The two lords both understanding the need to protect the realm, perhaps better than the other lords.

"I will trust your advice lord Baelish," Arryn said. "See to it that men from the cells are taken to castle black, send a raven to the lord commander, recommending that he appoint someone to come south and oversee recruitment."

"The second letter is from Ferelden my lord, it is in reply to one King Robert sent to the royalty there," Pycelle gave the letter to Arryn.

"What is this?" Stannis asked.

"Robert had a letter written to King Maric of Ferelden, this reply comes from the Teryn of Gwaren, Maric's chief advisor, Loghain Mac Tir," Jon Arryn read the signature, frowning slightly at it.

"Mac Tir, that's a weird house name," Renly chuckled.

"It means 'son of the land' my lord, Loghain was of common birth, but assisted Maric in reclaiming the throne from the Orlesians. He is a very well respected man in Ferelden, and an accomplished military leader," Varys explained.

"Dear King Robert," Arryn began.

"I will save you wasting time in sending letters to the Chantry, for that is whom you should ask regarding the summons of one Daylen Amell, mage of the circle. The chantry is the primary authority behind the circles, they will not part with a mage whom has not yet passed his harrowing, or achieved any notable rank within the circle hierarchy. Do not send us such a request again!"

"The cheek of the man," Pycelle muttered.

"He speaks a simple truth, the circle is charged with protecting the boy, they will not part with him for Robert's childish request to witness magic," Stannis said and Renly scoffed.

"Mages, they can't be real," the young Baratheon chuckled.

"We saw what Fausten wielded against the Mountain," Arryn said.

"A mere invention of dwarves, but if magic is real, all measures must be taken to keep it from corrupting the realm, that is why I continually implore this council to distance itself from the Amells," Pycelle explained.

"The Amells will continue to rule the Meadow for as long as they are loyal to the crown," Jon said. "Now are there any other issues that should be brought to our attention?" he asked, looking around the room impatiently.

"Whispers from the Iron islands, fisherman who pass that part of the kingdom, report of the Iron born building ships," Varys said.

"They are sailors, perhaps they mean to fish and trade," Renly said.

"Balon Greyjoy is no fisherman, the man believes in his drowned god, why should he not believe in the old ways. I can assemble a fleet to inspect his lands, send no raven, if they are planning to resume their reaping again, I will put a stop to it," Stannis explained.

"I thought reforms were made by Lord Greyjoy," Jon Arryn said.

"By Quellon Greyjoy, Balon's father, he seemed a much wiser man than any of the Iron born, but alas he died at sea trying to join in on the rebellion. Upon taking lordship of the islands, Balon rejected most of his father's reforms, I am in agreement with lord Stannis," Varys explained.

"You gain nothing by sailing away to antagonise the iron islanders, if anything lord Stannis's presence may spark the conflict we are trying to avoid," Baelish said.

"Until real proof can be shown that the Iron born intend to carry out their old ways, we will take no action against them, when the mad king took action against imagined betrayals it led the entire country to war!"

When the hand finished speaking, more issues were presented. Nothing of great importance was decided at the meeting. Arryn and Stannis were the last to leave, but speaking to one another about the king.

"We have been patient with him for years, he still has yet to take governance of the realm seriously," Stannis said.

"The realm is at peace, there is no conflict, no reason for Robert to pressure himself with small issues," Arryn as usual defended the man, as Stannis had come to expect.

"What happens when these issues become greater, when they lead to catastrophe?" he asked.

"Then Robert will be able to do what he does best, restore the peace."

"But the king should be ensuring that these small issues never grow into larger threats," there was a fury in Stannis's voice, one he cut as Jon looked at him sternly. "I apologise my lord hand, Robert is the king."

"And your brother," the hand reminded him.

He shook his head, a weary and tired sigh escaping his own mouth. Despite the younger Baratheon's attitude, Arryn understood him completely.

"Let me speak with the king, I believe he will do what is best for the realm," he said, as sincerely as he could.

Considering it was Robert Baratheon he was standing up for.

* * *

It was a slow day at the circle, the children were being expected to study a subject and inform their tutors on what they had learned. They couldn't plagiarise from the books, everything had to be in their own worlds. Everyone was choosing a piece of chantry text to analyse, easy subjects. There was only one source for the subject Daylen intended to write. It was near the top of the book case, there wasn't a soul in sight. Daylen could see it clearly.

'The Ferelden rebellion,' he could read the title from where he was standing.

He looked to his left, then to his right, still no one in sight. The other children were too distracted reading their books about Andraste, or their studies of brother Genitivi's adventures. Daylen took hold of the case, raised his leg onto one shelf, and then began to climb. He carefully looked at each hold ahead of him, taking care not to grab a loose book. But he inevitably made the mistake, sending one book crashing onto the table. To his surprise it didn't distract anyone.

That's also when he noticed how high he had climbed. It made him suddenly think of the dangers of climbing high. Not just for climbers, but those whom climbed a hierarchy. Knights, lords and ladies, servants and advisors, princes, princesses and kings. They were all in danger of falling, because of aiming too high.

'Okay Daylen, keep climbing,' he chided himself, continuing up until he got his book.

He dumped the book on the ground and began climbing. When he got halfway down he fell onto his back, hitting his head and drawing a little blood. Wiping the back of his head with his sleeve, Daylen picked up the book and went to his table with Jowan.

"The Ferelden rebellion," the boy read. "Why are you studying that?"

"Because I'm interesting in what happened, to King Maric and Loghain Mac Tir. Throughout the tower I've heard only one thing, that the two of them are heroes. The heroes who freed their country from the grip of the Orlesian empire. But I want to know more, about how these two met, about the battles, about how Orlais took Ferelden in the first place. We're already taught enough about the chantry, why shouldn't we take advantage of what we have here, and learn about something else. In fact, I think that's what I'm going to do, keep an eye on this for me will you," Daylen stood up as quickly as he had sat down.

"Daylen," Jowan called out, but shook his head as his friend rushed to another book case.

"Rankings and etiquette of the nobility, A history of Ferelden kings, Ferelden law," Daylen read each title, piling each book on top of the other.

He wiped the blood on the back of his head, annoyed by it more than he was hurt by it. Then he rang his finger along the case, reaching each title for relevance.

"Wait a sec, this shouldn't be here," he said, pulling out a book that belonged in historical fiction.

He froze, reading the title, it had been the first and only book his mother read him.

* * *

"The 'tally of, the, oney handed keniget'."

Revka smiled at her boy's innocent expression, and butchering of the title. She took the book from him and ran her finger across the title, explaining to him the words.

"Tale, when there is an E at the end of a word you don't have to try to pronounce the E, for example tal is just tal, but tale is tale because of the E, the same applies to 'mad' but when you had the E it is 'made'. The same thing applies to 'one', and the last word..." Revka took a moment to laugh. "Knight, the word is knight, pronounced like night, but it's a different word with a different meaning. When you get a K and an N together, most of the time the k is silent, 'gh' G and H together is a similar process in that you aren't pronouncing the G so much. 'The tale of the one handed knight!'"

"How can someone with one hand be a knight?" Daylen asked.

"Well day you see, this knight had something the other knights didn't. He was not the most learned, or the most skilled, but he was the most loyal to the king. This is as much his tale as it is the story of how the king formed his legendary kingdom," Revka explained, and began to read.

He told him of the birth of a nation and a legend. Of a king whom was chosen by a sword, and created tirelessly, a kingdom of virtue. A mage helped him to ascend, knights protected and fought alongside him, but the one handed knight protected him, helped him rule, advised him. The legendary king faced many a struggle, both within and without the kingdom. He and his legendary knights fought off invaders, killed dragons and sought out artefacts of power. Whilst the other knights pursued adventures that made them legends in themselves, the one handed knight remained always by the king's side. Some said that mockingly the term 'hand of the king' was first drawn from him.

This knight was loyal to the king, to the ideals his king tried to create. But he had a dream, to see his king smile, to see his king know peace. He served as much as a friend as he had as a loyal knight of the realm.

"Was the knight in love with the king?" Daylen asked.

Revka was shocked by the question, but pleased by it. It showed that even at a young age, Daylen wasn't put off by the thought of two men loving each other.

"It happened so long ago it is difficult to say, there was a form of love there I believe."

Slowly however, their ideal world began to break down. Knights left the king, the greatest of them even bedded his wife.

"Bedded?"

"Oh, well," Revka tugged her collar nervously. "You see the queen and the knight were in love, a betrayal of the king."

"Couldn't the king have forgiven him?" Daylen asked.

"Perhaps he did, for it was said that the king still named her the queen, and proclaimed her lover the greatest of knights. The one handed knight was no legend, but he played an important role, as witness, as the one whom aided the king. I think these men, the men whom don't claim glory, can be the greatest heroes of all," Revka explained.

"They aren't recognised as heroes, yet they are heroes? That doesn't make sense," Daylen noted.

Revka shook her head, and continued. The king's world broke down, his own son, born of an unholy union, rebelled. On a bloody and mist filled field, the final battle was fought. In the end, the king killed his son, but received a life threatening wound. The one handed knight, wounded himself, carried the king for days to find help. He denied the king's impeding death and brought him to a peaceful forest and rested him against a tree. What he wanted more than anything, was for his king to be recognised and remembered for the great deeds he had accomplished.

"Is this a sad ending?" Daylen looked to the floor as he spoke.

"More like bittersweet, even in tragedy something can be gained Day," Revka said.

Still Daylen didn't understand, like the one handed knight didn't understand, when the king gave him a final command. The king told the one handed knight, to cast his enchanted sword into a lake. Knowing that with this order fulfilled, his king would die, the knight attempted to lie. Twice he lied, and twice the king saw through his lies. Finally, he did as the king had asked and cast the sword into a lake. The one handed knight told the king the truth, and the king smiled before passing into a peaceful sleep. Throughout everything he had endured, the one handed knight had finally gotten what he wanted, his king had finally known peace.

"But he died!"

"It isn't to be taken literally, the king lived on as a legend, that was reward enough for the one handed knight, he had gotten what he wanted."

"Well I suppose, I did find it cool that he never took credit for things," Daylen smiled, but stopped as Revka closed the book. "Can I keep it with me?" he asked.

Revka smiled, giving the book to him. She stayed with him, as he read the tale again.

* * *

'Mother,' Daylen lowered his head, putting the book to his chest and rubbing the back of his head.

An older, taller student next to him, had been looking for his own books when he looked at Daylen's hand. He gasped and widened his eyes in pure horror, looking at the blood on Daylen's hand. Daylen looked at him, confused by his odd behaviour. Suddenly the boy bellowed and ran to the templar guards.

"THE MALEFICAR! THE MALEFICAR! HE'S PRACTICING BLOOD MAGIC AGAIN!"

Jowan looked to Daylen, squeezing his hands into fists as the templars drew their blades. Daylen however remained on the spot, looking at the templars in shock. As they began to approach him, he felt his grip on the book tighten.

His heart beat faster than it ever had in his entire life.

Next Chapter 10: Blood

* * *

The story Revka read Daylen is based on one that actually exists, quite a famous one actually, points to anyone who can guess it :)


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Age or a Song of Ice and Fire

* * *

House Amell of Westeros

Chapter 10: Blood

 _"I see great things for you my boy."_

 _"No, no, no, NO!"_

 _"He can't die, you can't take him."_

 _"No, it won't end like this, live grandpa, live, LIVE!"_

 _"LIVE!"_

She awoke to the cold winds of the north, from a memory she wanted to forget, of a person she would always be thinking of. Revka left her tent, wrapping her blanket around her body and looking at the cold lands of the Stark's lands. A few days had passed since they left the capital, on good terms with the Lannisters and Baratheons. Garret came to the red keep (pecked the insufferable Grand Maestar's hand) and delivered a message from Fausten. Trade would be carried out with the north, there were also concerns of the elves in the lands of one Roose Bolton. Elves were disappearing, and the whispers had reached the Meadow.

First though they would see the Starks, for permission to investigate, a courtesy Revka wanted to avoid herself. If it was up to her, she would march into the north, find out what was happening to the elves and bury a knife in his or her throat. But she wasn't just fighting for herself anymore. She looked back at her sleeping children, Dayla was practically embracing her wooden play sword, Dayk did the same for his stuffed toy. Revion held onto nothing though, he slept soundly, peacefully, he never required any attention to sleep.

'Of all my children, Revion will probably be the most independent,' she predicted.

Whilst she visited the Starks, Fausten would speak to the lord of the Dreadfort.

* * *

Roose Bolton was a pale man, paler than a man should be, though not bony. His face was plain and beardless, he wore a spotted, pink fur cloak and had pale eyes. Paler than stone and darker than milk. When he walked into the house, he walked up to Fausten's chair and bowed.

"I thank you Lord Amell for the escort and treatment of my men," his voice was soft, the mark of a patient man, not easily angered.

Fausten was patient too, he knew the kind of man Roose Bolton was. A rapist, someone whom practiced the barbaric 'first rights' of a lord, to bed another's wife before they could. He knew that the miller's brother had his tongue cut out, that the woman's son was Roose's bastard. But not even lord Stark would go entirely on the word of a common miller, with a bastard son. For the Starks to take action against their own bannermen, they would have to do something truly atrocious.

"I welcome you to our halls lord Bolton, my staff can prepare a meal for you if you'd like, our wine maker Leland can make a great hippocras, you can take several crates back North with you if you'd like," Fausten explained.

"Thank you lord Amell, that is a service, perhaps fitting as a way to compensate the disservice you have done me," Bolton's voice was still calm as Stone and Stork both took threatening steps towards him.

Fausten shook his head strongly at both men, and they backed away.

"You speak of the elves I welcomed into my land, from yours," Fausten said.

"Whilst it is certainly your right to open your borders, I did not grant the elves position however to leave my lands," Bolton said.

"I see, had they asked would you have accepted?" Fausten asked.

"That is my concern, not yours," Bolton said.

"My concern is why the elves entered my land in the first place, as soon as they crossed the border and entered the town, I had one of my men question them, not an interrogation, a simple talk. They had some revealing insights," Fausten explained.

"Pray tell what insights did they have to offer?" Bolton asked.

Fausten stood up and looked down at Roose Bolton. He knew what kind of man he was, he knew the kind of violent urges the man concealed. But he also knew the law.

"The conditions in the alienage are appalling, infection rate is high there and they rarely receive rations, come winter it has been a pure miracle that they have survived. In the winter apparently their survival rate though increases, as they are not bothered by the guards, many of whom are abusive. One man's father was thrown into an arena and fed to a bear, a fucking bear Lord Bolton!"

The man took a step back as Fausten walked closer towards him, near glowing blue eyes meeting the man's pale ones.

"My daughter is going to be looking at your lands, she is going to be inspecting them, she is going to report to Lord Stark and he will settle this issue," the lord of the Meadow, the head of the Amell clan proclaimed, fiercely standing over the lord of the Dreadfort, yet so small to Fausten.

"I assure you Lord Amell, if there are abuses being done to the elves on my land it has been done so without my knowledge or approval, but they are still citizens of my land, what is done to them is my duty and my right, not yours," Roose explained, trying, and failing to appear strong.

"Then you're not doing your job very well, you may leave whenever you like, but until the investigation of your lands is complete, the elves who came to me seeking protection, will receive protection!"

The message was clear to Roose, this was no negotiation. If he had a problem with it, he could complain to Lord Stark, or the king himself. He didn't, but not because he had nothing to hide.

* * *

Probably one of the few people Revka liked at the Dreadfort was Lord Bolton's son. Domeric was polite, not sleek like his father, or the company he kept at the fort. Of all of Roose Bolton's servants, Revka emphasised her children to keep away from Locke. He could certainly mimic friendliness, but Revka knew actors when she saw them. Locke was one of the Bolton men whom enjoyed being an enforcer, he didn't hunt animals, he hunted people. He looked at people as if they were targets. Similar but different to how Revka recalled Ulrich looking at people. Ulrich could perhaps be forgiven for his Reaver instincts, Revka wondered what Locke's excuse was.

The people on the Bolton lands were quiet, but just because people didn't complain, didn't mean something wasn't wrong. They looked as pale as their lord, and tired too, they didn't have many fields for farming and some were rotting. No wonder of all the lands Revka had visited, the elves of the Dreadfort were the thinnest she had seen before. She joined Domeric on a ride across the countryside, the young man rode well, and he clearly enjoyed it.

"You could plant fields here, put a few people to work, it'll increase your food production and keep people occupied, give them something to do and help feed their families," Revka explained.

"Also meaning thievery will be a less common occurrence, thank you Lady Amell, I'll recommend this to my father," Domeric said.

"You're acting lord of the Dreadfort though yes?" Revka asked.

"Yes," confusion crossed Domeric's face as Revka rode past him.

"We've brought some bags of seeds, why don't you start organising something now? Spend a bit of time amongst your people, a lord who walks with his people can earn their love," Revka said.

"It is a good thing you've said that Lady Amell, I was planning to visit my little brother," Domeric said.

"Your little brother?"

"A bastard, I only found out about him quite recently, he was very adamant that I not see him," the boy lowered his head slightly.

"Then why don't we go and see them then?" Revka asked.

"Really?" Domeric looked at the lady, hope in his eyes, so different than Lord Bolton.

"Yes, your father simply worries for you, but if I watch over you then things should be fine," Revka smiled, veiling her true intentions.

She liked Domeric, and she was curious to see what this bastard of Roose Bolton was like.

* * *

Blood was a funny thing, people could be bound by it, or divided by it. When Bolton returned to his lands, he expected to find his quiet people driven into a frenzy. Instead, they were working, elves and human alike. To his shock Domeric was walking amongst them. His one true heir, the only boy he had who wasn't buried under the fort. This accomplished boy was doing what Roose expected he would do one day, lead. Riding into the dreadfort, Roose was greeted by his guards.

"Lady Amell is currently in your chambers my lord, tending to your son," one of them said.

"Domeric is in the fields now," Roose said.

"Your other son my lord," the man retreated slightly under Roose's subtle glare.

Leaving his cloak to be picked up, Roose walked to his chambers. As soon as he got to the doorway he heard the sound of vomiting, violent vomiting. He opened the door and saw Maestar Uthar standing near his bed. Revka was sat at a small stool, holding a bowl that a boy was currently vomiting into. The smell of shit had also filled the room, and a cup of water was on the bed side table, fizzing from having some kind of powder put into it.

"Ah Lord Bolton, good to meet you again...there, there, let it all out boy," Revka spoke between Roose and the boy. "That's it Ramsey, go on," she slapped the boy's back, hard, not hiding the contempt in her voice. "Keep his head up Uthar, trust me him vomiting is better than him shitting it all out!"

"Lady Amell," Roose tipped his head slightly, walking out of the room with her.

They walked a short distance before Revka turned to him.

"I hope you don't take offence to this, but your son is fucking mental," she said.

"Excuse me?" Roose raised his eyebrows, in shock and anger.

"Oh Domeric is a great boy, I can see him ruling these lands much better than you have Lord Bolton. But Ramsey, I'd keep a close eye on him, he's not just an actual bastard, he's an utter bastard, and considering he's quite young I'm surprised to find myself actually saying that about someone. Domeric went to visit him today, their first meeting, they drank together, chatted as brothers do, and I noticed a little something fall into Domeric's drink," Revka explained.

"But Domeric didn't drink it," Roose said.

"I went over and chatted with them, I can be so absent handed sometimes, I may have ended up switching their cups around, Ramsey's mother has such fun crockery for a commoner. Domeric visited the next day and oh, poor Ramsey began having a poor case of the shits," the sarcasm in her voice was evident, reminding Roose of the southern vipers and their veiled threats.

"Anyway the little shit, I mean Ramsey and his shits, got so bad both Maestar Uthar and my own physicians suspected he might trigger bleeding in his bowels. I offered medicine, fortunately his 'bowel disease' can be treated if the right 'medicine' is given within a few days. It needs to be taken on a daily basis over the course of a few days, no interruptions, I was just about to give him the next batch actually," she continued to explain. "But alas, my children are getting a little bored, and I have appointments to keep with Lord Stark, I hope you won't begrudge me leaving as soon as you have arrived."

"Not at all lady Amell, you may take your leave," Roose said.

She turned to leave, but stopped when she heard Roose call out to her.

"Lady Amell," he hesitated, or paused, she cared not which. "Thank you for taking care of my son!"

There was a pleasant warmth in the man's voice, that Revka never thought she would hear.

"That is quite all right Lord Bolton, good day to you," she bowed before leaving.

As the Amells left, Roose returned to his chambers, dismissed Uthar and watched his bastard. Pathetically thin, even more so as he vomited violently into the bowl. The boy tried to reach for the cup of medicine, but Roose grabbed it before he could. This boy, this bastard, had tried to poison his son. He looked into the fearful boy's eyes, the same eyes he had. Ramsey certainly wasn't the miller's boy, as Roose suspected. He was his son, his blood, blood that had tried and utterly failed to commit what was one of the greatest offences, kin slaying. Even amongst the common folk it was considered a heinous act. That lack of acceptance of social norms was dangerous, but potentially useful.

"Remember this moment," Roose told him.

He would do horrible things for the success of House Bolton.

"What could have happened, what has happened, remember the lesson well," he put the cup down, letting Ramsey fearfully take it and gulp the contents down.

He wouldn't become a kin slayer, at least not until Ramsey had stopped being useful. Not until the insanity Revka spoke of, subdued House Bolton's rise and even then, it would not be like this. Ramsey Snow would die later, not today, not until he had done something that served his house and his brother.

"If anything happens to your brother, you will not stay here, nor will you return to the mill, our blood is important, my son," Roose whispered to him, warned him.

He did not know the Amell's intent, what he did know, was that when their kindness and leniency came back to haunt them, they would regret their decisions. But for the life of his son, he was in their debt for now.

* * *

Ned Stark honestly found it strange, that the Amell heiress would ask his permission to look at the Bolton lands, receive it, and then rush off with her escort and children. She didn't stay for even an hour, didn't take her cloak off and didn't accept her bread and salt. Then, days afterwards, she returned to his lands, walking outside her caravan with her children. Ned kept Robb at his side, and Catelyn did the same with their daughter Sansa. Both children seemed to be the image of their mother, Robb's curls had a darkened version of the Tully red. Sansa, his little girl had straight, shining hair, and would no doubt become a great beauty. A beauty that Ned didn't doubt Robert would want to marry his own son.

"Lord Stark," the man bowed to the Amell arrivals.

He kissed Revka on the cheek, hugged her and as she did the same with Catelyn, he looked over her children. Dayla had dirt on her cheek and was dressed in boy's clothes. She held the hand of her little brother Dayk. The boy looked up at the tall Stark, then quickly looked down. Putting a smile on his face, Ned knelt down and roughed up the boy's hair.

"Your grandfather and uncle are quite tall little one, one day you'll match them in height," he said.

It put a smile on Dayk's face, though Dayla scoffed slightly. Ned looked for her twin, but found nothing. It was then that Revka looked at where she expected Revion to be and slapped her forehead.

"Oh Revion," she snarled, drawing her boy's name out.

They began the search for the Amell boy. Ned sent some of his guards out to search the castle grounds, whilst Catelyn and Revka led the servants in a search around the keep. It wasn't until twenty minutes had passed that Ned walked around the stables, and heard the words the simple stable boy often spoke.

"Hodor, Hodor, Hodor," he was clearly joyful.

He had a different name of course, something his mother and Ned's siblings would call him. But ever since that day the stable boy began to flinch and whine on the ground, he had forever been known as Hodor. He was a giant, taller than Ned, and as strong as a horse. But he was also gentle, and though he understood simple commands, he wasn't capable of speech.

"Is that right?"

"Hodor!"

"Wow, that sounds incredible."

Ned walked towards the stables, peeking over the door. There he saw a clearly Amell boy sitting in the hay. Hodor sitting across from him.

"Hodor," the man repeated.

"Tell me about it," Revion said.

Ned frowned, clearly Revion wasn't like his mother or grandfather if he mocked the poor and simple man.

"Hodor."

"I'm glad you agree, personally I find black horses to have a much better temperament, once you overcome the initial fear they have before training," Revion explained.

"Hodor," the man nodded his head, smiling as he again repeated the phrase.

Ned's frown raised up in confusion, if the boy was mocking Hodor, he had a unique way of doing it.

"Well it was nice talking to you Wylis," the boy stood up, shook Hodor's hand and walked to the door at the other end of the barn.

'That's impossible,' Ned thought.

He hadn't heard Hodor's former name since his mother died before the war. The boy simply walked up to the great hall and the guards called out to the Starks and Amells. When Revka returned with Catelyn, she pulled Revion's ear, not tightly, just enough so that she could whisper into it.

"Don't do that again, you have to stay with us when on the road," she said.

"Yes mother, I just wanted to introduce myself to the Starks," he said.

"We were," Revka said.

"Well I had already said hello to the people on the road before we reached the castle, and I saw someone in the stables, I went over to say hello to him, I was going to come straight out but then we began talking," Revion explained.

"The stables, no one stays there but Hodor," Catelyn said.

"He doesn't actually like it when people call him that, he's just too afraid to say it to you and Lord Stark."

That was when Ned developed his opinion of the Amell children. Dayla, the great beauty who would try to be something else, Dayk the timid one, and Revion, the unique heir. Ned offered his and Catelyn's quarters for the family to sleep in, but they decided to stay in the servant quarters instead. That night, laying with his wife, Ned thought of the Amell children and their elders. He had heard merchants who bartered at the Meadow speak of it as a land between summer and winter. It was cold, yet there was a warmth there, a warmth that came from more than the demeanour of its lord. The fields were green and filled and the people content. There was the occasional disagreement, but people were apparently genuinely happy.

The sun set, then rose and the two families broke their fast together. Dayk sat close to his mother, whilst Dayla sat between Robb and Sansa. She certainly had a boyish manner to her. But as she laughed with Robb it was clear to Ned that this was deliberate. Though Sansa tried, she just couldn't connect with the Amell daughter. Looking at her, Ned thought of his beloved sister. The she-wolf, Robert's one sided obsession (though he would never tell the king that), a young girl of strength and bravery, but she never had such hubris to call herself that.

 _"I want to be brave."_

He cast his eyes to the table, trying to forget that horrible day. The day she was truly brave. Dayla would become a great beauty, as would Sansa. Ned could not forgo his duty as a father or the lord of Winterfell. Sansa would marry and he suspected Fausten would allow Dayla to choose, so there was a chance that she never would marry. Lyanna was a lesson, that terrible things would be done for a betrothal.

"Did you see my sister at the capital Lady Amell?" Catelyn asked.

"I'm afraid I did not, regretfully I never asked Lord Aryn how she was, have you been back to the Riverlands yet?" Revka also inquired.

"I haven't really had reason to go back," Catelyn said.

"You should go, take the children with you, they should see the Tully lands and learn about their heritage," Revka said.

"Maestar Luwin is teaching them," Ned said.

"I meant actively learn, it's all well and good to read about places. But that doesn't define knowing, one has to see and feel. I took my children to the capital, to the Dreadfort, not just because it was our duty to go to both places, but because I wanted them to learn about them both, what did you learn from our visits children?" Revka asked.

"Roose Bolton is creepy and Ramsey Snow is whacky," Dayla said.

"The capital smells like poo," followed Dayk.

Their responses made the Starks laugh. Revka shook her head and sighed at their simplistic responses. She looked to the more intellectual Revion, looking out of one of the doors.

"Revion, what have you learnt from our visits?" she asked him.

"Why is Sansa and Robb's brother outside?" he asked.

A silence fell over the hall. Catelyn herself frowned for but a moment, but it wasn't unnoticed by Revka or any of the children. Ned knew his wife's fears, but he knew his duty to the child as well.

"Jon's not allowed to eat with us," Sansa said.

"But why?" Revion asked.

"Jon's name is Snow, he is a bastard you see," Catelyn said.

Revka could tell that Catelyn was trying to remain composed. Revion looked up at the woman, nodded his head in complete understanding, and then walked out. Dayla too got off her chair, grabbed Dayk's hand and walked out of the hall. Catelyn looked at the door in confusion, as confused as her own children were. Whatever anger Ned had, he hid well, Revka however didn't hesitate to smile when she looked outside. She was proud of her children, they sat with Jon and played with him. Even Dayk was energetic about the game of heroes they were playing.

"The rules are simple, we all play heroes of the dragon age, I'm going to play Maric," Dayla said.

"No, you played Maric last time Dayla," Dayk said.

"Fine, I'll play the Orlesian emperor," the girl put on a maniacal laugh.

"So we pick characters to play as?" Jon asked.

"Yeah, I'll be an Orlesian soldier, would you like to play as Loghain Mac Tir?" Revion asked.

"Whose Loghain!"

"Loghain was Maric's closest friend and general, he was the commoner who became a lord," Revion explained.

They swung about make believe swords and pretended to gallop on horses. Robb came over and the game only grew more fun. It was as if there was no class divide, there was no awkward pause whenever Jon knocked Dayla or Revion down, and Revka was glad for that. Not just because of her children being able to play with other children, but for Jon too. She assumed the boy had very little friends, and though he lived better than others, was still a bastard.

"Mother, father, can I play?" Sansa asked.

"Sansa," Catelyn looked at her child in shock.

"It looks like fun," the girl said.

"Go on Sansa," Ned urged her on, pushing the small of her back.

"But be careful, get them to stop rolling about," Catelyn added.

"New game everyone," Revka said. "We'll play the forth blight, you're all my Grey Wardens, and Ned is the Archdemon," she put on a playful scream.

The tall man looked at her in confusion as the children put on playful battle roars. He raised his hands and began to roar like a dragon himself, flapping his grand arms as if they were wings. The children crowded around him, Robb and Jon jumping on their father's back. A look of contempt crossed Catelyn's face as he played along with the game, treating Robb and the bastard with equal value. They kept on playing the game, simply enjoying one another's company. Even under Catelyn's disapproving gaze, they still looked like a family. More importantly, Robb, Jon and Sansa looked like true siblings.

All save the matriarch of the Amells slept in the guest quarters that night. Revka looked up at the obscured stars, the northern star one of the only true lights in the skies of the Stark land. She looked at the star and thought of her girl and boys, all of them. Fausten and uncle Aristide believed in a meritocratic style of inheritance. Gamlen simply being Aristide's son was not enough. Her uncle's recent passing had made Revka think often of them. Think often of how if Leandra was still in Kirkwall, she would no doubt inherit the entirety of the Amell estate. Gamlen for all his potential, and dedication of taking care of Aristide, was not fit for the life of a nobleman, or an Amell family leader.

'What would you all do, to prove yourselves worthy, would you shatter the bonds of family that binds you?' Revka wondered.

She pictured it, what her children would be when they were older, all together. Dayla, a woman knight, a beauty and a fighter in one. She would find love where she wished it, not in who demanded it. Dayk, her sweet baby child, he'd be a scholar, or a knight, or whatever he wanted to be. But above all that she hoped he would have courage. Revion, her brilliant son, the most compassionate child she had ever known. Perhaps he would be a priest, or a philanthropist. Then there was Daylen, her oldest. Kingsguard, small council member, adventurer, wanderer, it didn't matter what he was, he'd still be with them.

"Lady Amell," a voice tore her from her thoughts.

"Lady Stark," Revka nodded her head at Catelyn.

"I've never seen Ned like that with the children, especially when they're all together," she said.

"Play can bring out the best in people, and your children can bring out the best in you," Revka said.

"He isn't my child," Catelyn said, bitterness in her voice.

"But he's his child with another woman, a single night of worthless passion, or someone he loved before you, is that why you treat Jon so coldly, because you're too weak to throw anger at Ned?" Revka asked.

"What do you know?" Catelyn seethed.

"I know that it's pathetic to hate someone for simply existing," Revka retorted, causing Catelyn to take a few steps back.

Revka was no giant, and she wasn't yelling. But her tone of strength, her defiance against her host. It all showed a strength not even warrior women of Dorne had.

"For you to look at that boy like that, when he has done nothing, and worse to wish him harm...shows just how terrible a woman you are...and don't give some excuse like, he could take away Robb's claim to Winterfell. Discouraging them from having a bond is no way to prevent that from happening," she explained. "He's Ned's blood, their blood, that alone should be reason enough for you to care."

"I can't be a mother to him," Catelyn said.

"I never said anything about that, the fact that you've said that either shows that you know of this option and simply don't care. Or you've actually considered, for a small moment that you could do that for the boy. I heard about the time Jon fell ill, tell me Lady Stark, were you glad when that happened, had you prayed for it to happen?"

Revka turned away from the Lady Stark, who lowered her head. She had been pushed into remembrance, and into the shame that brought her. For her words had been right, her judgements had been right. There had been a time, not long ago, when Catelyn begged the gods, and realised how terrible a woman she was.

'Let him live, let him live and I will tell his father to acknowledge him, to give him a true name, to love him like my own,' she remembered her vow.

A broken vow, a vow she could not carry out. It was for her pride, for Robb's future.

"Fuck your pride," Revka said, she had no walked away completely.

She didn't turn back towards Catelyn, and there was no magic in her. No magic that allowed her to see into the hearts of others. She just knew these things because she truly saw people. There had been a coldness in Catelyn's farewell to the Amell family. The children waved eagerly at the new friends they had made, and Ned smiled, confident in the belief that a bond between two families had been formed today. Catelyn merely bowed her head, bearing if nothing else respect for their parting.

'He's Ned's blood, their blood, that alone should be reason enough for you to care,' still she remembered what she said, even as she slept, she remembered.

It wouldn't take a day to return to the Meadow. Two days into their journey home, the Amell caravan stopped and made camp. Whilst her children slept, Revka looked up at the stars and drank from her flask. She poured a large amount for his uncle and aunt, spreading it in a circle around her. The memories of the dances her uncle would host at the forefront of her mind. Those days when she was a child and would regularly visit the main house of the Amell family. Though a staunch traditionalist, it had never painted the kind of man Aristide was. He knew compassion and played with his children, even treating the children of his servants like his own. Far different than the treatment Revka had seen from many houses in Westeros. Blood was the strongest bond to an Amell. Revka had seen blood spilt for the family before.

"Daylen," she whispered.

"Mother," she turned towards the tent.

Revion stood there, only wearing his bed clothes.

"It's still quite cold, go back to sleep son," she said.

"I had a nightmare," Revion said.

"Tell me about it," Revka smiled warmly at her boy, who remained silent.

She sighed and patted the patch of dirt beside her. Revion walked over, sitting and hugging his knees. He gasped in surprise as Revka put her arm around him.

"What was the nightmare?" she asked him.

"I heard bad things happening, I couldn't see anything, or do anything, I was powerless," Revion explained.

"I know what that is like, is that the only reason you couldn't sleep?" Revka asked.

"I want to know about my brother and why he makes you so sad."

The words came as a surprise to Revka, even more so the tone of voice Revion had. There was no hurt, no curiosity, no need in his voice. It was as if he was asking of some fleeting thing, a mere curiosity.

"You understand that Daylen is a mage yes?" she asked and Revion nodded his head. "People fear magic, for good reason of course. Your brother isn't someone who should be feared though. Because despite inexperience, despite not knowing what he had, he had used his incredible gift to heal."

"Who did he heal and how?" Revion asked.

"Your grandfather was ambushed during the previous Viscount's rebellion. He was killed, he was not close to death, he truly had died. My Day, he became so hysterical, 'no' he said, 'no'. His blood flowed into your grandfather's wound, and in a great flash of light, he was alive. A little boy, had used what people referred to as the most evil form of magic, to save a person's life."

Revka was shocked when Revion's finger suddenly wiped at her cheek. She had been crying, looking at her boy, she saw he was crying too.

"We'll, never see him will we?" he asked.

She wrapped her arms around her son, letting her tears flow. As she and Revion shared their grief, they didn't notice Dayk standing at the tent. The youngest Amell's hands shook as he formed fists with them.

'So what if we don't?' he wondered.

* * *

He could feel it, could feel his heart pounding against his rib cage. Feel the tremble of his hands, the flow of his blood on the back of his head. He looked towards Jowan, whose glared at the templars as they approached him. The light reflected off of their blades, and Daylen's eyes were drawn to them. They got closer and closer, and the threat blades were became more real to him.

"The Maleficar," he heard one of the mages say.

A small crowd had gathered, looking between him and the templars.

"He was always so quiet."

"I knew he would do it again."

"What has he done?"

Those were just some of the words Daylen heard from them. He backed away from the templars, pushing against a book case behind him.

"I didn't do anything, I just cut my head open that's all," he said.

"What?" one of the templars stopped for a moment.

"Come on, he would say anything," the other one said.

"But, he hasn't used any magic."

"He's a damn Maleficar, was since before he came here, mages of that kind defiled the golden city," the man explained.

Daylen fell onto his bottom, the templar's sword inches from his nose. He looked at the blade, at the fear in the first templar's eyes, then the hatred in the other's. His hands squeezed into fists, his teeth grit themselves together. The anger had nearly reached its boiling point.

"Go on, go on, you people," he seethed, expression becoming more ferocious with every word he spoke. "You people have just been praying for the chance to kill me haven't you?"

The templar adjusted his grip on his sword, suddenly taken aback by the ferocity of the small boy's gaze. Then there was his eyes, the red eyes that always disturbed him, that made others look away when he looked at them.

"Come on, you want to right? Do it already!" Daylen said.

With his sword raised, the angered templar let out a yell.

"WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS!"

The roar echoed through the library, halting the templars as if it was a spell. But it was no spell, in some ways it was more powerful. An order spoken by the Knight-Commander himself. Greagoir's eyes held the same fury that had been in Daylen's. He marched towards the two templars, both of whom stood to attention, neither sheathing their swords though.

"On what grounds have you drawn your swords?" Greagoir demanded.

"The red eyed boy, he was using blood magic," the second templar said.

"We had reason to suspect he had," the first corrected him, causing the younger man to shoot a betrayed look at him.

"Who was the accuser?" Irving asked, advancing through the crowd.

Jowan pointed at the mage that had yelled out earlier. With everyone's eyes on him, the young man shrunk. Not out of shame but embarrassment. Briefly, anger crossed his face as he looked at Daylen. But as soon as Irving's eyes met his, the expression shifted to fear.

"He had blood on his hand," he trembled as he spoke, grasping at his justification.

Greagoir indelicately grabbed Daylen by his hair, checking the cut on his head.

"How did you get this?" he asked him.

"I was climbing on the book case, I fell," Daylen said.

"We told you not to do that," Greagoir huffed as he looked at his fellow templars. "I better not need to order you to sheath those," he snarled and both men quickly slid the blades back onto their belts.

"Never make an accusation like that without definitive truth," Irving said to the mage. "You know what makes the circle work? Logic applied to vigilance, not rampant paranoia," the first-enchanter seethed, speaking more like a commander scolding a soldier.

"Vigilance yes, by weeding out the trouble makers and spotting them early on, the first spell that boy ever casted was one of blood magic, of evil. The law is clear, WHY ISN'T HE DEAD!" the mage yelled.

He quickly backed down however as Irving glared at him.

"Go back to your quarters, I'll deal with you later," Irving said.

Slowly and shamefully, the mage walked into the crowd.

"Don't the rest of you have studying to do?" he asked, making them disperse.

Greagoir kept his hand on Daylen's shoulder, pulling him into a walk out of the library. Daylen looked over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of Jowan's concerned expression. Irving and Greagoir took him to the first-enchanter's office, there, Greagoir put him at a chair whilst Irving poured water into a cup.

"I am sorry for that child," Irving said.

"You were told not to climb the book cases, you knew you had a cut, you should have had someone check it," Greagoir said.

"He was being a boy Greagoir, you saw it yourself, it was barely a cut anyway."

"There is plenty of fault to go around."

"Most of all with those three, they rushed to accusations and reacted inappropriately."

"That I agree on, but their suspicion is necessary and agreeable."

"He's a child not a Maleficar!"

"I remember," Daylen suddenly said, catching the attention of the two men.

"I remember what happened, rebels from the former Viscount's rebellion attacked us. Grandpa protected us, he saved us but took a sword to the chest. I didn't want him to die!" his shoulders trembled as he looked down, tears starting to soak his eyes. "There was so much blood, he'd lost so much blood and I wanted it all to go back into him. I didn't want him to die," he choked, gripping the chest of his shirt tightly, recoiling from the pain inside him.

"I wanted to save him, I wanted him to live, and he lived. I didn't care about my eyes, because he was alive, I saved him, I had done the right thing. But ever since I came here people have been looking at me as if I'm some," he paused, gritting his teeth together as he practically forced the word out. "Like I'm a MONSTER! They hear blood magic and they rush to conclusions, judging me, labelling me. I SAVED SOMEONE'S LIFE! It isn't fair."

A look of compassion crossed Irving's face as he knelt in front of Daylen. He placed one hand on his shoulder, and another on top of his head, patting it gently.

"I don't think you are a monster, I have always seen you for what you are," he said.

"What am I Irving?" Daylen asked.

"A brave boy, a boy I have not stopped believing in. Don't give up Daylen, because I still believe you are strong, stronger than this."

"People still doubt me, they think I'm going to perform blood magic again."

"Then prove them wrong," Greagoir said, without even looking at Daylen. "Prove us all wrong boy, now dry your eyes and go back to your quarters."

Even though his voice didn't hold the warmth Irving's had, even though he didn't see him, Greagoir's words alongside Irving's were what made him feel just a little bit better. When he walked out of the office, drying his eyes, he saw Jowan waiting. Slowly, his mouth lifted into a smile. One day, they would be young men, mages of the Ferelden circle of magi. Through every inevitable hardship of circle life, they would have each other.

Daylen believed that, just as Fausten once believed.

Next Chapter 11: The Greyjoy rebellion

* * *

Hope everyone enjoyed the chapter, paving the way for some of the changes that will come in the next story. Anyway, we now go to a Westeros focus chapter, including Damion's return.


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I don't own A song of Ice and Fire or Dragon Age

24/03/2018: changed the category to the A song of ice and fire section, as the Game of Thrones side of the crossover draws more from the books than the show.

Originally I chose Game of Thrones because I thought with the show so popular, it would be a more commonly browsed category

Anyway, onto the story

* * *

House Amell of Westeros

Chapter 11: The Greyjoy rebellion

The Iron Islands

The Iron Islanders believed in 'paying the Iron price'. The words of their noble house the Greyjoys was 'we do not sow'. They only built ships and grew enough food to feed their fighters, because they based their entire belief on taking what they wanted.

"We do not work the fields, we do not bend the knee, we pay not gold but the iron price," was the gist of their beliefs, and something even their lord once said.

His ambition had grown, to the point that he desired not just independence from the crown, but the crown itself. His brother Euron Greyjoy opened the rebellion with a tremendous victory for the iron fleet. Despite smaller numbers, he took advantage of the wind that time of year, using it to spread flames he set on the Lannister fleet, one of the third largest fleets in Westeros. That left only Stannis Baratheon's fleet, to fight on the main front of the war. Stannis would fight on the sea, and the men of the North, led by Ned Stark would fight on the beaches.

Ships marked by stags clashed with ships marked by Krakens, the heraldry of house Greyjoy. On the beaches, Northmen formed shield walls, trying to prevent the advance of iron islanders. Over the past couple of years, Ned had grown a beard and gained the respect of his house. He was now the unquestionable warden of the North. He slew dozens of the iron islanders, whom though outnumbered fought ferociously. Across the beach, he noticed a knight galloping towards the battle.

Whoever he was, he fought viciously and mercilessly. When he dismounted his horse, he swung his long sword into heads and necks, sent teeth flying with his gauntlets. The knight held the bladed side of his sword and used the pommel as a club, sliding the blade through iron islander's backs, beating them to death with the pommel and crashing the sword through skulls.

When the enemy was massacred on the beach, Ned looked to the knight as his men gathered bodies for burial. The knight had removed his helmet and rested his sword on the sand. When the knight turned his head, Ned saw the slightly aged, but more weary face of Damion Amell.

"Have you found your glory Sir Amell?" he asked the young man.

"There is only death here," Damion said. "There was only ever death in knighthood."

"The Iron islanders would have raped and pillaged every village they passed through, you have saved many other lives today Damion," Ned placed a hand on his shoulder, a pat was the only comfort he could offer.

When Damion returned to a nearby town, he found knights going out of whore houses. Men he knew to be married, bedded women who offered themselves. They were supposed to be men of honour, yet Damion saw as much villainy in them as he had from the iron islanders. As he drank, he remembered the sacking of king's landing.

Apparently Jamie Lannister had killed the king, earning him the name Kingslayer. Damion was of the same opinion of his father, that Aerys had fallen too far and, in a way, the Kingsguard had done his duty by killing the king. Sometimes kings would have to be saved from themselves, and the people would have to be saved from the king. Seeing the hole in the king's back, and the slash across his throat, was no horror to Damion. An evil man had perished and everything was put right. Except that hadn't been the case that day.

Three bodies were thrown onto the throne room floor. A woman, a girl, and a baby, Damion looked at the bodies of Rhaegar's family in horror. Tywin Lannister presented them, but the deed itself had been carried out by his Bannermen, Amory Loch, and Gregor Clegane. Gregor was known as the Mountain, and the name fit him. He was a giant, monster of a man, as tall as Thedas's famed Qunari and no doubt just as devastatingly strong. The girl Rhaella, had been stabbed so many times, beyond what would have been her obvious death. Rhaegar's wife Elia had clearly been raped, bruises across her body, and around her legs.

Then there was Aegon, the baby's head had been squished, just like his mother's. No doubt whoever had done this had been strong, and heavy, as heavy as a mountain. Ned began yelling at Robert, whom showed indifference to the atrocity. Damion couldn't hear them, all he could head was his breathing as the anger flared within him. He looked at Gregor, and saw not indifference, but pride.

"YOU ANIMAL!" Damion suddenly yelled.

He drew his sword and tried to rush at the Mountain.

"Damion NO!" Fausten yelled, grabbing his son's arm, alongside the rest of their men.

Damion yelled, trying to fight through the grip of his father's men.

"Lord Fausten, control your son," Tywin said.

"Or what, your men will butcher and rape him too?" Fausten asked.

"ENOUGH!" Robert roared.

Damion stopped, but he was still glaring at the Mountain when he broke free. He looked down at the bodies again and knelt by Elia's.

"We need to send them to Dorne," he said, and Robert scoffed.

"Display them," he said.

"You cannot mean that," Ned said.

"They're the Dragon's spawn," Robert retorted.

"THEY WERE CHILDREN!"

"Robert, Eddard, please, stop this, there are still Targaryan loyalists out there," Arryn said, stepping between the two men. "Display the bodies, mistreat them further in anyway, and we will never have the loyalty of Dorne."

"We should go now, please son," Fausten whispered to Damion.

He did as his father wished, and trusted in the king's justice. But what justice was there when the murdered bore the name Targaryan? Robert saw them only as dragons to be slain. And Tywin Lannister, he was rewarded for his actions, Loch and Clegane would have kept their heads if not for Fausten's challenge against the Mountain.

Such a small amount of time had passed, and whilst his father built his ideal world in the Meadow, Damion saw no change throughout Westeros. All around him there was the depravity and dishonour of men whom claimed to be honourable, and were called honourable in turn. Out of anger, Damion squeezed the bottle of wine in his hand until it shattered. He fell to the floor, sword sinking into the mud as the rain batted down on his armour.

"Never thought I'd find the son of Fausten in a shit hole like this," a voice spoke above Damion.

Damion looked up, seeing the shadow of a man.

"Maker, have you come to judge me?" he asked.

"Not yet," suddenly, ice cold water was thrown across Damion's face.

He coughed and let out a yell of frustration, preparing to punch the man. But when he was lifted off the ground, he saw the face of Sir Byran. The knight shoved Damion to the ground and huffed, judging him to be weak. Damion pushed his sword against the ground, using it to lift himself up. In his drunken fury he pointed his sword at Byran.

"I am not the Mountain Damion," Byran said.

Damion yelled as he ran forward, Byran sidestepped his thrust, grabbing Damion's cross guard and pulling him forward. He fell over Byran's outstretched leg, face first into the dirt.

"What is a knight sworn to Damion?" Byran asked him.

"Protect and obey your lord, obey the king," Damion was suddenly interrupted by a fist to his face.

"Neither of those are part of the knight's code, not truly, the code was altered by lords and kings, for a political end. All knights, even Barristan the bold now follow a code of contradictions, contradictions to grant them reassurance and the nobility more power and protection. The old code Damion, I taught it to you as much as I taught you how to fight, speak it to me."

Damion thrust his sword again, and again was thrown to the floor. Byran kicked him in the gut, bring vomit up through Damion's mouth.

"The king may have knighted you, but you are no true knight yet son of Fausten, stand and speak the words," Byran said.

"Stand, fight for...chosen lord...for weak...protect the family," Damion's speech slurred as he coughed, vomiting on his gauntlet, then on his greaves.

He stumbled back, sliding across the dirt until he was bathing in it again.

"We will do this all night if we have to," Byran said, before he slammed his foot into Damion again.

* * *

He remembered a true knight, a knight of such incredible skill. Arthur Dayne, sword of the morning.

"Now it ends," Eddard had declared.

Arthur Dayne and his fellow kingsguard stood unwavering, utterly confident in their ability to fight the Northern men. Damion himself was not confident, only raising his sword out of respect of the threat the three men were.

'Why must we fight, the Targaryen's are gone,' Damion thought.

Then, they clashed. Howland was the first to go down, Dawn slicing through his shoulder. He fell to the floor, not dead, but clearly out of the fight. Arthur followed by swinging his sword through William's neck, pushing the body into Ned and knocking him back. His brothers fought just as viciously, their own blades easily parrying and countering the blows of the other North men. Whent blocked Theo's sword strike with his shield, before stabbing him in the chest with a vicious yell. Damion moved into the fight, intercepting Hightower's sword with his own. They circled one another, exchanging blows as Whent and Dayne fought with the others. Whent hit Ethan with his shield before parrying Ned's sword. The Lord of Winterfell brought his sword down on the knight again and again, driving him back. Parrying his thrust, Ned pushed Whent's shoulder and drove his sword through his neck.

"We don't have to fight," Damion said to Hightower.

"We are fulfilling our duty, just because our prince is dead, does not mean his order no longer applies," Hightower retorted.

He cut Damion's cheek, throwing a flurry of blows that Damion blocked each time. Yelling in frustration, Damion stepped back and swung his sword into Hightower's head, denting the helmet and dazing the knight. With Hightower on the ground, Mark chopped off the knight's head. Damion tried to speak, to chide Mark for striking a downed opponent. But both men were drawn to the last remaining knight. Arthur Dayne, sword of the morning, Dawn in his hand. But slowly, he drew a second sword from his belt. Two long swords in his hand, yet he held them with perfect balance.

"Give up Dayne, a new king is being crowned, do not deprive the land of your sword," Damion said.

"I cannot serve the stags, my loyalty will always be to those who possess the blood and name of a dragon," Dayne said.

"Rhaella Targaryen and Viserys cannot escape Robert's wrath, there is no hope for them," Damion retorted.

"They are not the ones my prince and friend Rhaegar bid me to protect. Lord Stark, how honest a man are you? How honourable a man are you?" Arthur asked, taking a few steps forward as the Northmen surrounded him.

"What do you mean?" Ned asked.

"How good a man do you believe the Baratheon to be? Would you be willing to deceive him?"

"King Robert is the new protector of the seven kingdoms, my friend and my brother by law of his betrothal to my sister," Ned explained.

"Then there is nothing more for us to debate," Arthur said.

"Wait," Damion pleaded, but it was too late.

The fight had already begun, and Damion was frozen by awe. Despite being outnumbered, Dayne was dominating the Northmen. They were no slouches to combat themselves, many of them praised as the finest warriors of the North. Ethan, Mark, Martyn and Ned all went at the knight, whose hands moved almost impossibly fast considering the weight they carried. He was blocking and parrying, throwing his opponents back with his swords. Ned tried to get in close, but Arthur barged his shoulder, following up with a hit to Ned's sword, knocking him back. Mark tried to swing his sword for the back of Dayne's neck, but the knight deflected both blades. Then, as if paying Mark back for Hightower, he crossed his swords at his neck and scissor cut his head off. The body fell on top of Martyn as Ethan and Ned attempted a third assault. They locked blades just as Martyn stood up, the Cassel charging towards Arthur's exposed chest. With a swing of his arm, Arthur threw Ned into Martyn, knocking them both down. Dawn pierced through Ethan's chest, blood coating Arthur's silver armour. He pushed Ethan off of the blade, and turned to face the remaining Northmen.

'Incredible, that was only a few seconds,' Damion thought.

He'd never seen such an incredible fighter before. Arthur Dayne surpassed both Byran and his father in their youths. He was perhaps the greatest of the kings guard still left.

* * *

Miles from Seagard-'The day the Phoenix hunted the Kraken'

Rodrick Greyjoy was the oldest son of Balon Greyjoy, lord of Pyke. An Ironborn to his core, he had a grand ambition, to be the first to ring the bronze bell of the Booming tower of Seagard. His fleet of Longships would sail to the great coastal city, and take it. The dark haired man walked along the deck of his ship, looking at the Booming tower, losing himself in the desire to pay the iron price for it. He looked at the ocean path, narrowing his eyes at the ships in the water. They opened their sails, revealing the symbol of the Amell clan. A flurry of arrows suddenly slammed into the ship. Rodrick grabbed one of his men, stopping an arrow from piercing his neck. The arrows had flaming tips, and had already set fire to several of Rodrick's ships.

"HARD TO PORT! FIRE BACK AT THOSE SONGBIRDS!" Rodrick yelled.

That was what the Iron islanders called the Amells and their people. Songbirds, that made friends easily with their pretty little songs. Rodrick had heard of how the Amells fought at the trident, how the clan leader dominated the Mountain. He mistakenly dismissed it. The Amell ships slammed into his, preventing his advance. Inside the Amell ships, men were pulling at oars, controlling the ship much better than sails could. Thuds and battle cries alerted Rodrick to the arrival of boarders. Amell men in red leather drew their swords and axes, clashing with the iron islanders. Blood sprayed across the decking, bone crunched against the wood and steel. Rodrick drew his sword and bellowed proudly.

"WHAT IS DEAD MAY NEVER DIE!"

He was ready to throw himself into the fight, when it flew through the ranks of his men. A lance, a spear, Rodrick could not describe the hybrid of weapons that slid through his gut. Attached to it was the banner of the Amell clan leader, the Phoenix. Fausten raised his lancer up high, showing the Iron islanders their commander and 'prince'.

"GIVE THEM NO QUARTER! GIVE THEM THEIR IRON PRICE!" Fausten roared.

Bards spoke of how a great phoenix tore a Kraken from the ocean. 'The day the Phoenix hunted the Kraken' was what it would be known as. It marked the first great counter attack of the 'main landers' and what Robert intended to be the end of the Greyjoy rebellion. But for Fausten, more than just victory in battle had to be achieved. A strategy had to be enacted that would break the Iron islanders spirit, and their support of their leader.

The brothers of Balon, Euron, Victarion and Aeron were met by horrific sights. Aeron prayed, Victarion swore vengeance, and Euron laughed. For small boats had been set up, boats with miniature masts on them. The masts were stakes, stakes that had on them the bodies of iron islanders. Rodrick's own body had been displayed on a stake that had the Amell banner on it. A warning and a dare.

* * *

"Whores are better investments than ships, now, tell me why this statement is in actuality false," Belle walked amongst her charges, sons and daughters of Meadow families, families that would become lords in the Amell eyes.

The Amell twins sat in the midst of her class in the woods. Revion proved to be the most intelligent of the pair.

"Whores get older, but you can treat the aging of a ship," one boy said.

"They carry goods, prices get higher on goods, but the price of a whore tends to get lower," said a girl.

"Why?" the Chantry sister inquired.

"Because their value will go down with age, the loss of virginity, as well as their own growing dissatisfaction with their jobs," the girl explained.

"You can use them to spy, transport people and reach and explore new places," listed another girl.

"They make people happier!" Revion said.

Belle stopped her walk, turning to the Amell boy. Slowly, the Amell children were beginning to grow, showing signs of the men and women they would look like.

"Please explain Revion," Belle said.

"A whore will treat an individual, they will pay their master, he will give them a minimum wage, and eventually, grow bored of them. Inevitably, the whore, the person they are treating will grow unhappy, bored, and they will grow unhappy, the family they are sacrificing their body's for, will grow unhappy. Whilst only the master, whose wealth and status increases, whilst he gives nothing back. But traders, with their ships and crew, can grow, expand their business, build bridges between places. They'll bring goods to other places, and earn a wage that will help them to take care of their families. Their happiness will grow and they will spread that happiness, because that is what a ship is, a vessel to carry things," Revion explained.

His speech had left the children speechless. But hopeful and wiser than they had been before. Many doubted Belle's methods of teaching. But she saw the evidence in front of her, Revion and Dayla, and the other children, would become the leaders of the Meadow in the future.

Fausten invested, in horses, in ships. He paid for Ironbark, and employed sailors and ship builders. His plan was to build vessels that would carry goods between Westeros, Essos and Thedas. He provided people with jobs and goods to trade, and made profit himself, which he put into more investments. In the Meadow, Revka oversaw the replacement of the main hall with a keep. She directed and oversaw men at work, but left ultimate authority to the woman that Fausten had found from the small folk. She was no builder herself, but an innovator, her ideas were greater than lords educated for years on history and etiquette.

"As you see, the 'decorations' on the gate in actuality bolster it," the architect explained, to the fascinated and impressed builders.

Revka turned away from the construction effort, confident that they would have it done. With her eyes she saw that the people of the Meadow were happy, even with a war happening. Part of her regretted sending her youngest to Highgarden, a place she had heard was very beautiful. She left him in the care of Darius, who would begin training Dayk in some combat skills. Revka called it a holiday for her boy, but she still remembered the hurt expression in his eyes.

* * *

An expression he didn't keep after several weeks in Highgarden. He had grown like Revion as well, looking less like a smaller, fatter version of his brother, and more like his own person. At the crack of each dawn, Dayk would train with Darius in how to put on armour, hold his sword and physical exercises like running around the castle grounds. But through the rest of his time there, he would play with the youngest of the Tyrell children, Loras and Margaery. As Darius read a very humorous book written by a dwarf in Kirkwall, the children played in the gardens.

"Come on, let's drive away the ogres," Dayk said, and the Tyrell children cheered.

Himself and Loras both swung sticks around as Margaery clapped her hands. She took them both by their hands and spun about, letting them go to fall onto a bed of flowers.

"Hard to believe that whilst those three play, a real war is being fought," a voice said behind Darius.

"Lady Olenna, Erryk, Arryk," Darius nodded to the older woman and her twin bodyguards.

Olenna was an aged woman, but far from frail. When they first arrived in Highgarden, Darius had the impression that Olenna 'wore the trousers' instead of her husband Luthor. The lord of Highgarden was a good man, but seemed to imitate authority, not actually carry it. Not like Olenna, who walked, talked and reacted as if she was the lord of all. When she spoke, people listened and obeyed. In the notes he wrote to Revka, Darius referred to her as the 'queen of sass', a variation of her moniker the queen of thorns. She had a quick whit and Darius admired that in her.

"You can't really tell them apart can you?" Olenna asked him.

It was in reference to her bodyguards, both big men and dead ringers of one another.

"You'll never know," Darius smirked.

"No one will," Olenna said as she sat down.

"Perhaps not, what were you getting at before?" Darius asked.

"You know I'm no fool boy, and before you come out with some smart remark, you'll always be boy to me. I've seen it many times, the men go off to war, the children distract themselves, ignorant that one day it may very well be them saying goodbye to their wives and children, rinse, then repeat!"

"Is that regret I hear in your voice?"

"I'm actually near deaf, so I can't tell."

"We know that's bull, your ears are as sharp as theirs," Darius said, motioning to the children.

"Why did Revka have him brought here, it wasn't for safety," Olenna said.

"I know the nobility comment on Revion being the odd one, but believe it or not, many in the Meadow think he's the most self reliant of the Amell children. It is Dayk who needs attention, he needs friends, he needs to be away from places of comfort," Darius explained.

"I see, I'll speak to my husband, tell him that the boy would make a good ward for House Tyrell."

"Oh you misunderstand completely Lady Olenna, Revka wants her son to be wise and to know Westeros as well as a true native does. But she has no desire to have him spread his loyalty to another house."

"Does she wish him to one day lead the family?" Olenna asked.

"She wants to prepare the family for the worst," Darius said.

He took another sip of wine, narrowing his eyes slightly at how Margaery and Dayk spun one another around in the dirt. They were laughing merrily, and there was a somewhat jealous expression on Loras's face.

* * *

The true counterattack of the Iron war would begin. Robert fully assembled an army to deal with the Ironborn, morale raised by the actions of the Amell fleet in preventing the occupation of Seagard. As well as their subsequent killing of Rodrick Greyjoy and the display of ruthlessness that impressed Tywin Lannister. The Warden of the West and lion of Castlelyrock stood in the Arbor, looking at the assembled royal fleet and infamous Redwyne fleet. Across the distance, he spotted Paxter Redwyne himself directing his sailors. On the port itself he saw Tygett speaking with the Amell men, including the Reaver Ulrich. Though a man of great pride, Tywin could not deny the immense value the Amells had been in winning over the small folk to the royal cause. They protected them, and provided jobs for them in ways that neither Robert nor Aerys before him had done. Tygett owed them his life, they were able to diagnose and treat a pox he had. Months later, Tygett was as healthy as he had ever been.

"What is your bearing of the situation lord Tywin?" a voice asked behind him.

To Tywin's surprise it was the Amell head himself. Clad in his red light armour, he tipped his head as he joined Tywin.

"We use our superior numbers to overwhelm the foolish Ironborn, then move onto their homeland and break their spirits," Tywin said.

"I completely agree," again Tywin was shocked, though he did well not to show it. "We do not sow...I believe we should make the Ironborn, well," a smirk crossed the face of the Amell head.

Slowly, Tywin began to share Fausten's smirk, knowing exactly what he was thinking.

"What did you have in mind Lord Fausten?" he asked.

For all his hatred of the man's compassion, he greatly admired his tactical prowess. Hours later, the great lords of the royal army met in Robert's tent. Robert was dressed in his old armour, his horned and additionally crowned helm at his side.

'He seems to be enjoying royal life,' Fausten thought, seeing that Robert's cheeks were slightly bigger than he remembered.

Stannis was also there, the Baratheon coat of arms on his mid-weight armour. Ned stood in heavy Northern armour, and the other members of the Kingsguard stood in separate corners of the room, Jamie and Barristan closest to Robert. Barristan had aged, but seemed to carry himself as well as the younger men. Jamie too had aged, grinning as he saw Fausten and his father stood side by side at the map.

"The lion and the phoenix, never thought I'd see it, don't cats usually eat birds?" Robert asked, laughing at his own joke.

Tywin and Fausten began to move the pieces on the map portraying the royal fleet. To the surprise of the other lords, Fausten put additional pieces on the board.

"Aeron and Victarion Greyjoy lead the Ironfleet, and by the time we sail will have reached the Straits of Fair Isle," Fausten began, explaining to the lords his and Tywin's plan to end the Greyjoy rebellion, and ensure the eradication of the old Ironborn.

* * *

It was a spectacular sight, the Iron born fleet clashing with the royal fleet. Under the overall command of Stannis, ships from the Arbor, Oldtown and the Reach surrounded the Ironborn fleet from the North and the South. The Golden Storm under Aeron's command was smashed to pieces by Stannis's flagship, the Fury. Aeron himself was knocked over board, the man was never quite the same when he was fished out of the river and taken captive. Victarion fought well, and though in comparison to other lords, he was a better sailor, he was far from being good by Ironborn standards. His expertise had been in raiding, as evidenced by the full plate armour he always wore.

With his axe and shield in hand, and helmet that resembled a Kraken, he bravely faced the boarders of the royal army. Left and right he smashed his axe into skulls. When landing he led men well, because they always knew what to do. But when facing boarders, he fell short of the leadership his men needed, simply losing himself in battle. It was in that battle that two sons of Iron island noble Rodrick Harlaw were killed, both drowning when knocked from the ship. His brother in law was caught in the firing line of Baratheon archers. Victarion ultimately became so worn out that Stannis's men were able to bind him with chains. The iron fleet, and what was the bulk of their forces, were destroyed at the Sea battle off Fair isle and two of the Greyjoy brothers captured.

* * *

"From that point, we will release small boats of a new design," Fausten continued his explanation of the strategy. "They will split, and carry with them men and supplies, for their task I would put them under the command of two men."

* * *

Davos Seaworth, the onion knight, a smuggler whom saved Stannis Baratheon and his men from starvation. So called the Onion knight because the very food he brought to Storm's end was the layered vegetable. Though he was still a criminal in the eyes of the realm's justice, Stannis himself cut off the tips of the fingers on his left hand. In a way, Davos was still a smuggler, only this time he had a different cargo. Under the cover of night, Davos and his men used the Amell boats, built as small as row boats. The fact they all wore armour of the Ironborn added to the stealth of their mission. Their cargo was oil, chains and hay, and the will of the lords who had formed a strategy to truly break the Ironborn, not just defeat them, but what they stood for.

By the morning, docks across the Iron islands, particularly Pyke, were seat aflame.

* * *

"We do not sow, obviously the Ironborn haven't lived by this code to the letter. An economy cannot be established by thievery, but the lords themselves can profit from it," Tywin explained.

"Which is why we must burn their docks, their shipyards, ships for fishing and the occasional raiding has maintained the Iron island economy and fed their people. We must rob them of their ships, make them survive through their land," Fausten continued, planting the stag map piece on Pyke itself. "The final part of the plan is up to you my king, you are the most important piece in it. The part you will play, will not only decide the victor in this rebellion, but will change the Iron islands in the long run!"

* * *

It was the most difficult battle of his life. Damion clashed blades with Arthur, and knew that it would take every ounce of his strength to defeat the great knight. Martyn was already dead, Ned seeing to his friend as Damion and Arthur duelled. Arthur thrust one of his swords, then parried with the other. Damion swung his large blade, trying to knock the knight off balance. But Arthur's form was incredible, any weakness he exposed, he quickly used to gain an advantage, cutting Damion's cheek, even his leg at one point. Damion pushed forward, his sword clanging against Arthur's again and again. He slid his feet back, knocking one sword away from him, then another. Arthur maintained a consistently fast flurry of blows, keeping Damion on the defensive. Arthur used his attack as his defence, deflecting and countering Damion's own attempts to counterattack.

'He's better than Ned, better than me, probably better than father,' Damion thought.

He stepped back, barely dodging a swing from Arthur's left. Then he brought his sword up, blocking Dawn. Quickly, Damion raised his arm, using his own gauntlet to parry Arthur's second sword thrust. Arthur slammed his head against Damion's, knocking him back.

'He is definitely stronger than father,' Damion realised.

Slamming both swords against Damion's, Arthur shattered the Amell warrior's blade. Damion stumbled back, falling onto the sand. He looked up at Arthur Dayne, sword of the morning. Suddenly, a blade pierced through the knight's neck. Damion widened his eyes, the blade was held by Howland, still alive.

'Through the back, no,' Damion gasped as the knight fell to the ground. 'No, no, no, not like this,' he shook his head, crawling back away from the knight.

Ned looked at Damion, at the denial on his face. Then he looked at Arthur, reaching for Dawn. On instinct, Ned grabbed the famous sword, raised it over his head, and then brought it downwards.

"NO!"

* * *

Damion raised his head, looking up at the moon lit sky. He got onto his feet, feeling the bruises from Byran's beating. The warrior stood across from him, his arms crossed, fists bloodied and bruised.

"What do you want from me?" Damion asked.

"It has never been about what I want, or what your father wanted. I never served your father, I fight in both these wars, not as a servant of the Amells and especially not the Baratheons. If you do not know what you fight for Damion, then you cannot yet call yourself a knight, recite the code," Byran repeated, unfolding his arms and standing before Damion.

The son of Fausten shook his head as he turned around. He stopped however, overcome with shock, they were stood in a yard of bodies. Men murdered, women too, clearly having been raped before their deaths. Then there was the children, Damion knelt by the body of one child and dragged a hand across his face.

"What happened here?" he demanded, not turning to face Byran.

"Soldiers!"

"Ours or the Iron born?" Damion asked.

"There is no difference to these people, they can look at the banners and the sigils and the armour and do you know what they see? Bullies, men with power who will abuse it, who will take what is theirs. The reward for soldiers like this is not two silver coins, but the possessions of those who cannot fight, all their possessions," Byran motioned to the women, and it was clear to Damion what he meant.

Damion stood, looking at the ground. Byran punched him across the face again.

"What happened at the tower of joy happened, you are one of the only witnesses to it. Now there is nothing honourable about death and murder, but surely you found one thing, one small thing from that moment that was worth holding onto, that made all the struggle worth it," the older man explained.

Damion remained silent, looking at the bodies, at the children in particular. Byran shook his head, and turned away.

"Decide what it is you fight for Damion, then fight for it, valour and honour are second to that," Byran said as he walked away.

Later that day, Damion trotted his horse back to the small hut his most precious possession stayed at. The hut was owned by a farming couple, they had a son lost to the war, and were kind enough to look after the only thing of value Damion had left.

'The only thing, how could I refer to her as that?' Damion wondered, chiding himself.

She was his most precious person, his daughter with Raina before her death. He heard her melody as he approached the couple's garden. The brown haired girl was playing a flute, the melody she played was flawlessly beautiful. Damion found himself gasping, unable to breath as he was so caught up in her music. Truly she had a gift for it, for creating something magnificent. The only thing he could do was join the slaughter. As she finished playing, Aristana looked over her shoulder and smiled in joy.

"PAPA!" she yelled.

Damion smiled as he knelt, his daughter leaping into his arms. He swung her in a circle, enjoying her giggling as much as he had her music.

"How long will we be staying Papa?" she asked.

"We shouldn't impose on them much longer," Damion said.

That night, Aristana slept in the farmer's spare room. Damion stood looking up at the stars, remembering the bloodshed on the battlefield, in the villages, and the hope in his daughter's eyes. But also he remembered Lyanna Stark, Arthur Dayne fighting to protect her child. He could not speak for the man's motivation. Did he not trust that Ned was choose his sister's desires over the law? Did he want to use Lyanna's child to preserve the reign of the dragons? Or to begin his own rule? He could not speak for the man's motivations. Lyanna had been right, Robert was cruel, the boy needed protection.

 ** _"Promise me Ned!"_**

 ** _"So long as there is that single light inside them, that light that drives them forward, this willingness to keep that light even as they run into darkness, I believe that they will save others from the darkness."_**

 ** _"Now there is nothing honourable about death and murder, but surely you found one thing, one small thing from that moment that was worth holding onto, that made all the struggle worth it,"_**

"Aristana," Damion whispered.

She was to him, what Daylen was to Revka, that good thing in his life that drove him forward. His pride and joy, his melody. That night he rode, for a battle.

The final battle of the Greyjoy rebellion, the breaching of Pyke.

* * *

 _(Samurai Warriors 4-OST Passage of Time)_

Great heroes arose from that battle, Thoros of Myr with his flaming sword, Jorah Mormont whom breached the castle alongside him. As these great warriors fought the Greyjoy rebels, less great ones tried to take from the people. The people of Pyke, whom never once raised weapons in their lives and lived only to provide for their lords. The people who were having their possessions taken by the soldiers of lions, stags, even wolves.

"NO PLEASE!"

A woman was pleading, trying to kick off two men ripping at her clothes. The hungry looks in their eyes told her more than the wolf sigils on their belts.

"Fucking Iron slut," one of them punched her and tore at her shirt.

Suddenly, a spear pierced through his chest. The blade was quickly pulled out, before cutting the second man across the face. The woman looked up into the blue eyes of a man in red armour. He stepped out into the village, standing before the royal soldiers.

'I remember now, the true code of a knight Byran,' Damion thought.

"A knight is sworn to valour," he began.

One man drew his sword and ran at him, earning a slash across the face. Damion lowered his cross spear, the very same cross spear that toppled the Mountain. He tapped the staff against the ground, triggering a rune.

"His heart knows only virtue!"

Again a man charged him, and he defended himself. He tapped the staff on the ground again as he walked into the middle of the village, catching the attention of all the soldiers plundering.

"His blade defends the helpless!"

The men knew what he was doing, scoffed at him and attacked. But with one slash after another he downed his opponents, tapping and activating the runes.

"His might upholds the weak!"

Slash and tap.

"His words speak only truth!"

Slash and tap, each rune glowing as he twirled his spear over his head.

"His wrath undoes the wicked!"

The spear glowed and was set alight, a sight that made the men stop, and filled the people with something they hadn't had since the life of Quellon Greyjoy, hope.

"WHO DARES!" one of the men, a Baratheon soldier yelled.

"Damion Amell, and if you want to take more than two silver coins today, come and try. And if you act on your lord's approval, or their order, then let them be the ones to try. For I am a knight, and I will uphold my oath!"

Damion held out his spear, shuffled his legs, and let out a battle cry as he ran at the soldiers. As well as being the day Pyke was breached, it was also the day the Ironborn were shown that it was not their lord or any other that protected them. It was the day the legend of the knight echoed through Westeros.

Damion Amell, the knight who died protecting the weak.

Next Chapter 12: Through the years (Westeros)

* * *

This was difficult for me, but it isn't without meaning. A song of ice and fire is great, Game of Thrones too (bits of it) but the whole 'kill off this character then that character' every episode becomes a bit cheap and just shock value (in the defence of the show there's stuff like time, budget and contractual constraints to work with). Whenever I kill a major character I want it to have some meaning to the story.

You're free to speculate the meaning here, or just wait for the next chapters

This was a difficult choice for me to make, but I enjoyed writing the chapter, hope you all enjoyed reading it


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Age or a Song of Ice and Fire

* * *

Damion stood proudly, smiling as his nephew raised the home made, wooden cross spear he held. The child tried spinning the weapon between his fingers, only for it to fall.

"No showing off Daylen," Damion scolded him.

"Yes uncle," Daylen quickly picked up the toy and assumed his fighting stance.

"Remember to bend your knees a little, keep a tight grip," Damion advised him.

"And here I come," Daylen interrupted him, jumping and swinging his weapon into Damion's wooden sword.

Damion laughed as he and Daylen 'duelled', the peaceful Meadow around them.

It was a good dream of what could have been, before the end. Damion opened his eyes to the Westeros sky. The bodies of his defeated enemies lay around him. Blood poured from a cut on his forehead, from cuts on his shoulders and waist. Then there was the arrows, it was said even a single arrow could bring down the mightiest of warriors. It took many arrows to get Damion to stop. Slowly he got off of the floor, leaning on his spear for support. The village was safe, the murderers and rapists had fled. Finally he fell onto his back and sighed in relief. Staying true to his beliefs had been difficult, but it was worth it. He told Byran about Aristanna before they parted, she'd be taken care of.

'Raina, that red eyed man you saw in the flames, it was Daylen wasn't it?'

Blood loss and exhaustion took hold, filling him with the image of a fully grown Daylen. The young man put a hand to his left breast and bowed his head respectfully.

'Daylen, you will grow into a good man, a courageous man, a man who will always fight for what is right, Revka's pride, our pride, is not wasted!'

He raised his fist to the sky and smiled.

"Let...my...actions...speak...louder...than words!"

* * *

House Amell of Westeros

Chapter 12: Through the years (Westeros)

The Greyjoy rebellion ended with the arrest of the Ironborn. Euron was exiled, Victarion sent to the Knight's watch, and Balon bent the knee, submitted to the demands of King Robert Baratheon. In truth they were demands made by Tywin and Fausten, the two agreeing on the price Balon would pay for keeping his power. And that was why he knelt, to keep his power and his home. Fausten specifically requested that his son and daughter be present for that. They listened to the demands.

"The Ironborn will build ships suitable only for fishing, by law, its priority will be in growing crops. Lord Balon you have two choices, bend the knee and remain lord of the Iron islands under these laws, with the addition of your remaining children living as wards on the main land. Or join your brother in exile!"

Robert wanted to threaten the man with the chopping block. But Fausten made it very clear, offer exile, not execution. The plan he made to break the Greyjoys was crucial. Balon's choice would have no impact on his remaining children, Asha and Theon, if they saw that his only other choice was death. To their shock, he bent the knee.

Theon was sent to Winterfell to be raised as the ward of Ned Stark. Asha would live as a hostage under Stannis Baratheon, with the possibility of her becoming a servant of the Baratheons. One thing Stannis wouldn't do was waste her potential usefulness. Victarion took the black, Euron sailed away, Aeron turned to the drowned god and Balon remained the broken lord of the Iron islands. He had lost his first and second son (Maron was killed when Pyke was breached) and chose to abandon his remaining children, in favour of keeping what was his. Only under law, he had to turn his land into one that primarily fed itself. The Greyjoy, had to sow.

Fausten's strategy had been successfully carried out. Yet still, he did not consider it a victory.

* * *

He stood before Robert, Stannis, Ned and Tywin, some of the bodies of their men laid at their feet. Damion's own body was cast unceremoniously at Fausten's. He knelt, looking at the content face of his youngest.

"You have provided us with a victory, but not the reduced loss of life you provided us with at the trident. If anything, your son killed more of our soldiers than the Ironborn did," Robert explained.

"My boy, you finally found your honour," Fausten whispered.

"Look at your king when he addresses you," Stannis said.

"Your son assaulted our men," Tywin said.

"Really?" Fausten asked, standing and looking at the lords. "Because the people in those villages, the people my men found battered, some even raped and robbed of what was theirs, tell a different story. They tell of Lannister, Baratheon, even Stark men assaulting their homes. They speak of my son defending them," he explained, never once blinking or wavering in his defiant expression. "What is the penalty for thievery? What is the penalty for rape? You dismiss these possibilities? I expected better of you all, you should all be ashamed of yourselves!"

Despite the pressure it put on his back, Fausten picked up his son's body. Quickly, he was assisted by Byran and Ulrich, and soon after the Iron born villagers behind them.

"He was a knight, a true knight, do not degrade him for that!" Fausten said, before he truly turned his back to the king.

Stannis was about to speak when Robert raised his hand.

"Gods," he shook his head. "I need a drink!"

* * *

The gods had an odd sense of humour. Though Revka herself believed it fitting. It would have been too clichéd for it to rain. Instead the Meadow was filled with light, and it was fitting. Because that was what Damion had brought to people. The Amells had lost their heir, but gained a reputation and great friends. Damion had freed slaves in Essos whom joined the ranks of the Meadow citizenship. Adam would become game keeper and the primary hunter for the Amell family. The rest, willingly became staff and assisted in the construction of the 'Resolute keep'. Named so because of Damion's stand on the iron islands. There was plenty to celebrate about Damion's life, his daughter Aristanna was a welcome addition to the family. But still, it was natural to mourn his death. Dayk was brought back from the Tyrells and cried with his mother. Dayla held Aristanna's hand, embracing her as a sister. Revion though stood on his own, and he wasn't crying. Revka was too overcome by her own grief to worry. Fausten stood at the pyre prepared for Damion, looking out at the guests. Oberyn Martell had come, as well as Howland Reed, even Ned.

"A knight is sworn to valour, his heart knows only virtue, his blade defends the helpless, his might upholds the weak, his words speak only truth, his wrath undoes the wicked. These are the words of the old code, of knights whom swore allegiance not to kings or lords, but to a way of life that sadly is dismissed or even mocked," Fausten paused, taking a deep breath as his eyes went red. "In his final moments Damion spoke these words proudly, and lived up to them proudly. Even if it cost him his life, even if it would be looked down upon, even if it was a wasted effort...he lived by this code. Not here, NEVER HERE!" Fausten yelled. "His way of living was not wasted, his death was not without meaning. Do not build a monument or speak inflated stories of his life, remember it, remember him, the knight of the true code!"

With the flame runes on his lance, he lit the pyre. Stepping away from it, keeping himself obscured by it, Fausten let out a cry of anguish and fell to his knees.

"Maker, let it have meaning, let it have meaning or I will never pray for you again," Fausten said, his hands pressed strongly together.

He spoke the words of reassurance, but inside he cursed the Maker. No father should bury his child.

* * *

When Ned returned to Winterfell, he made a point to hold his children, his youngest Brandon and Arya the most. He didn't sleep that night, just looked up at the moon from the courtyard, thinking about the death of his friend. He also thought about the sacking of Pyke and king's landing, and they shared things in common, the victors abused the defeated. Those people whom hadn't even taken up arms against them in the first place.

"Ned," Catelyn appeared at his side.

"We achieved victory, but for many it wasn't," he said.

"Damion Amell's death still bothers you?" she asked.

"He fought against us, not on behalf of the Greyjoys, but the people of Pyke caught in the cross fire of our war," Ned explained.

"It was Balon and his brothers who started that war, not Robert, not you," Catelyn said.

"That doesn't change the fact that people still died, innocents died at the hands of my men. Something must be done, some decree made that protects them."

"What would you do?"

"I would have Robert decree that no man may steal that which belongs to another, even if it is war," Ned said.

"Then at least enforce it amongst your own men, spread it to the Northern lords as my father will for those in the Riverlands," Catelyn said.

"You are right, thank you for your wisdom. There is something else as well, Theon, Fausten told me that it is imperative that boy not seek to follow in his father's footsteps," Ned explained.

"We can't trust the Greyjoys."

Ned let out a chuckle.

"What is it?" Catelyn asked.

"That is what Fausten said too, trust but be wary of Theon Greyjoy, treat him as you would your own son, be patient with him and he may surprise you. But always remind him of what he witnessed that day, his father choosing power over family!"

* * *

There was no warm embrace between members of the Lannister family. Tyrion and Jamie though shared their own warm moment, thinking of how Revka had lost their brother, and how much they meant to one another. The King slayer drank wine with his brother and remarked on the old days, of diving off of the cliffs at Castlely rock, and their cousin Orson 'beetle smasher' Lannister. Later that night, as Robert drank and fucked his whores, laughing and forgetting the legend of Damion Amell, Jamie met with his sister. They shared their own brief embrace, before Cersei was left alone. She prepared ink and a quill, keeping a candle at her desk as she began to write out a letter.

 _To my dearest friend Revka_

 _Though you know I cannot claim any great affection for my younger brother, if I lost Jamie, I could not describe the grief I would feel. No doubt it is the same grief you now feel for Damion. His death and your loss has filled me with grief as well. Know that I urged both my lord husband and father to seek justice, to punish the men responsible. But predictably Robert wishes only to remember the joy of the fight and not those whom were lost because of it. My father also has been equally dismissive, and whilst I hold no responsibility for that, I am sorry for it._

 _Yet, despite this tragedy I believe in a strangely inspiring way, it has driven you forward. Please do not take offence for my presumptions that even now, you are driving your family forward on its path to happiness, and already plotting how to outmanoeuvre the next obstacle in your path. That unwavering determination you possess, is but one of the reasons why I admire you._

 _I wish you all the luck in the future_

 _From Cersei_

Revka smiled, putting Cersei's letter away. The queen was right, Damion's death had not been wasted. Though Fausten was still in quite a deep depression, each of the Amells and their household moved forward. Dayla doubled her efforts to get Byran to train her, whilst Dayk began studying diligently. In some ways Dayk had changed the most after the funeral. He seemed less troubled, and braver now, needing Revka less and at least trying to be more independent. A popular rumour spread by the staff, was that Dayk would become the next family leader. There was still a belief that Revion was different in some way, that his mind didn't function the way others did. But Revka saw it differently. Revion mastered Bella's classes, could explain the process of farming and construction at a level that was the equivalent of an adult. He was struggling to connect with the children in the Meadow, and seemed calmer when with the adults, even adding to their conversations. One day, Revion requested something of Fausten.

"Can I be fostered with the Starks?" he asked.

It wasn't uncommon for noble children to foster their children to other families. This way they furthered connections with one another. Revka would never have her children betrothed to others unless they wanted to. It wasn't the request of a child either, there was something in the boy's eyes that told Revka he was serious, that he genuinely wanted to go, and that he was planning something. Revion's request was granted and he was sent to the Starks. But not all in the Meadow were happy with it.

"If he's allowed to study with the Starks, why can I not go and live with the Tyrells?" Dayk asked Fausten.

They were stood in the new great hall of the Resolute Keep, it was still as modest as the old hall. Though there was a mural above the hall, showing the history of the Amells in Westeros. Fausten's friendship with Aerys, bowing to the Baratheons, the formation of the Meadow and Damion's stand at Pyke. There was a grand table in the middle of the hall, a round table. Most nobility typically used rows of tables, where the greatest lord would sit at the head. But following the legends of the great knights, Fausten chose a round table. At least at the dining table and banquets, people would be equal. But for 'judgements' and meetings, Fausten would sit at a chair at the end of the hall. He sat, with this lancer beside him, the flag fluttering low. Fausten himself had paid little attention to the grooming of his beard and hair. His eyes also seemed lazy and tired, uninterested in what Dayk had to say.

"Live with the Tyrells?" he scoffed. "Revion will not be going away for the rest of his life, he is only going to learn from the Starks. It may take a few years, but he will return to the Meadow," Fausten explained.

"That isn't why you sent him there, you sent him there because you knew he was struggling to connect with the children here, you knew that he had made friends with the Stark children," Dayk retorted.

"As you have made with the Tyrell children," Fausten brushed his eyebrows as he spoke, already frustrated with the conversation.

"You said we are at our strongest when we stand together, that applies to having as many allies as we can. The Tyrell lands are rich in grain, the family itself is much like us, they cherish their bonds with one another, they're not like the Lannisters waiting to stab each other in the back, or the Starks. The Starks who appear warm to one another, but what about Jon, that bitch Lady Catelyn treats him so coldly, for something that wasn't even his fault. They're the worst kind of people to teach Revion about his feelings!"

"LET ME MAKE THIS CLEAR!" Fausten yelled, standing up and looking down at his grandson. "Revion is not going there to make friends, he is going to learn from the Starks about governance, nothing more! Now I will hear no more of the Tyrells, return to your own studies."

Dayk kept his head low as he walked away. The next day, training with Darius he held his head high, watching Dayla and Byran across the field, their own training much more intense. Darius trained him the traditional way, parrying, lunging etc. Byran taught Dayla to endure, to take a punch from a bigger opponent, how to fight viciously but to reserve energy. The boy got knocked down and Darius stopped the training, seeing that he wasn't focused enough.

"If you aren't focused during training, you won't be focused when fighting," Darius said.

Darius stopped teaching him for a while. So Dayk was focused utterly in books, in speaking with the business owners and guard commanders. He wanted to learn about leadership, and be a leader as he was expected to be. So he read about the histories of great leaders, analysed the mistakes they made. Aerys the mad king, Maegor the first who was too cruel, Tytos Lannister whom was too kind and dismissive, even Aegon the great builder of the seven kingdoms was a flawed man who built a flawed system that would have crashed down. This Dayk learnt not from his books, but Revion.

"His conquest worked because of his dragons, once they lost them, the Targaryen dynasty had nothing else to keep its power," this was the last thing Revion said to his brother before he left.

At first Dayk believed, that like others, there was something wrong with Revion. But after being given that advice from his brother, he came to believe he was just as wise as any adult.

If not wiser.

Though it was a tale for another time, Revion did not stop with the Starks.

* * *

The sound of cutting wood and stomping nails, filled the meadow. Sweating men carried piles of logs and wood to where they were building. Elves, men and dwarves, worked together to build. Supervising them were four men and a woman. From Westeros there was Septon Ray, though not dressed in priestly robes, the dark haired Ray wore working clothes, the seven pointed star medallion around his neck, the only evidence of his faith. Beside him, holding the blueprint, crouched for their third man, was father Thomas. A man of the chant of light, he wore the brown robes of his faith, with the sunburst pattern on his chest. The man he crouched for was a dwarf, formerly of Orzammar, he wore working clothes similar to Ray, his name was Vorkin, the silver bearded dwarf. Then, bare foot and proud was Elegos, an elf whose face was painted with Dalish markings. Finally, there was Bella, dressed in her white and grey robes.

"We should make the foundation of it from stone, less likely to collapse if its burnt," Vorkin said.

"We're not planning to be involved in a war are we master smith?" Bella asked.

"You never know sister Bella," Elegos said.

"We should be prepared, I can already see a good few people disagreeing with this," Ray said.

"And you Ray?" Thomas asked.

"The seven, the old gods, the Maker, the creators, or the lord of light, I don't know which one is real or true, maybe they're all wrong, or maybe they're all the same fucking thing,"

"Language brother," Elegos chuckled.

"What I do know is that there is something greater than us, it shouldn't be one of the reasons we fight, it should be what unites us," Ray explained.

The other four smiled and continued their work. When they heard the thundering of hooves, they turned to the riders. It was a carriage, one escorted by sell swords, and bearing the marks of the seven pointed star.

"Just in time, the High Septon comes down from the capital," Ray said.

"I met the man, can you believe he eats a meal for each of the gods, seven fucking meals whilst his flock starves," Thomas made no effort to conceal his anger.

"Language Thomas, besides we shouldn't believe hearsay, but rather find out for..." Bella paused as the carriage door opened.

Slowly, excruciatingly so, a man in over decorated robes climbed out of the carriage. Bella's face shifted to one of disgust, even her face changed, reflecting her peasant background.

"Fucking hell, he's fatter than fat, obeser than obese, seven fucking meals," she ranted.

"Yep, seven fucking meals," Ray muttered, putting on a smile and bowing as the High Septon approached.

The Septon stopped in front of the four, taking a few deep breaths.

"Brother Ray," the man smiled at his fellow Westerosi.

"High Septon, what brings you to the Meadow, and with such well armed men?" Ray asked.

"I do not come here to engage in violence brother Ray but your friends," the Septon's eyes narrowed slightly as he looked at the three from Thedas. "A good and peaceful two years have passed since the Amells came to this land, since they settled and pledged allegiance to King Robert. Do they adopt the ways of the Northern old gods, or have they fully converted to the ways of the seven?" the Septon asked.

"Each man and woman of this land adheres to the principals of the gods of their ancestors, we have never questioned that," Bella said.

"Young lady I am addressing a man of the cloth, a man whose responsibility is to properly guide these people," the Septon said.

"I am also a woman of the cloth, in Thedas women are the clerics."

"You are not in Thedas."

"The Maker is not bound by borders," Bella retorted.

"My people carry their gods with us, and Fausten has welcomed us into these lands," Elegos said.

"Indeed, but you are not welcome in any other place are you?" the Septon asked, a sly smirk spreading across his face.

"We're ignored for the most part, so long as we move on quickly."

"That can easily change though can't it?"

No one questioned that there was a threatening tone in the fat man's voice. A spear suddenly flew past the Septon's cheek, imbedding itself on the ground. The man screamed in shock and fear, searching for the heathen peasant that threw the weapon. But he found no peasant, only the scarred lord Fausten Amell, who stampeded down the hill and took the Septon by the collar of his robe.

"Threaten one of my own again and I will not miss," he said.

"You are threatening a man of god," one of the sell swords said.

"I don't threaten, I promise, I promise that if this man makes it his mission to disrupt our work...then the whispers in the cities will become yells. Whispers that the supposed holy man feasts every day whilst the people he serves starve. Whispers that he fills his pockets with coin, to turn the other cheek or slander one house or another. Whispers that he beds whores and particularly craves the flesh of young girls...I'm no expert yet on the people of Westeros, but I imagine they will be quite angry, and one day when you are brave enough to walk the street, they'll tear your fat body apart," Fausten explained.

There was a look of pure terror on the Septon's face. Fausten however slapped the man's cheek, picked his spear up from the ground, and turned away.

"Are you not at all curious at what we are making?" he asked.

The Septon shook his head, and made his way back to his carriage. Fausten watched the heavy carriage ride off, followed at a slower pace by the Sellswords. He noted the decorations on the carriage, how fortified it was, all of the gold on it and the heavy seven pointed star seal. It was an incredibly heavy carriage, greater work for the horses, especially with their passenger.

"Elegos, did you finish that Ironbark carriage?" Fausten asked.

The Dalish elf nodded his head. Ray and the others smiled as they shifted their attention away from the building work, towards this new project Fausten had composed. Spare bags of grain, seeds and potatoes were loaded onto the Iron bark carriage. As the men prepared it, Bella dressed into grey and white robes. They were light and just the right mixture of dirty and elegant, enough to be acceptable to both lowborn and highborn. From the guard barracks came Sir Byran, carrying his sword over his shoulder.

"They'll need an escort to king's landing, especially if you plan to cut through the forest," he said.

"You know me too well old friend, let us make it so," Fausten said.

Roland provided two of his best and strongest horses. Byran's own horse was a black stallion, as battle tested as he was. Elegos prepared his own Halla to ride, and the journey began. Ray and Bella took the carriage, waving to the people they passed. It was a long journey to the capital, but they required fewer stops. They slowed, to pass food off to small villages they passed.

"Maker bless you all, and the new gods and the old, let the creators gift you with a bountiful harvest," Bella said, loudly and kindly so that all would hear her speak those words.

For whilst the Septon whined and complained, and stuffed his face at disreputable taverns, Bella did her duty. She took confessions, blessed others, and made promises to return and do it again. Onward they rode, until they reached their destination, the fabled city of King's landing. Riding through the street, Bella and Ray threw food to people they passed. People looked at Elegos's majestic Halla in awe as he passed them. With their carriage empty, they moved to the Red keep, passed the inspection of the guards and into the throne room.

A couple of years had passed since the Greyjoy rebellion, and Fausten noticed how large Robert had become. Jon Arryn had aged, perhaps more from his duty than the years.

"Hail Robert Baratheon, first of his name, king of the Andals and the first men, lord of the seven kingdoms and protector of the realm. I am Bella Cleric of the chant of light, thank you for welcoming us into your halls."

"Your grace, I thank you as well, I am Septon Ray of the new gods."

"And I am Elegos of clan Mythran, a craftsman and follower of the creators."

"An elf in court," Cersei heard people whisper, she was glad the locals of the Meadow heard it as well.

"Wait, I think I know you, you served Fausten didn't you?" Robert asked.

"I didn't your grace, he asked for my help, feeding villages that had suffered because of the war effort, and I gave that help. In exchange my people have settled in the forests surrounding the Meadow. You see your grace we Dalish do not stay in one place for too long, we are on a journey you see, a search for relics from our forgotten past," Elegos explained.

"And your point?" Robert asked.

"There are ruins in the forest regions across Westeros, I humbly ask that you make it a royal decree for us to explore these regions, with no harassment," Elegos said.

Robert leant forward as Arryn whispered in his ear. They whispered for a few minutes, what they said made Cersei smirk, and Bella didn't like that. She knew the bitter look in Cersei's eyes, an almost constant look that had robbed her of beauty. That also meant that Bella understood the kind of person Cersei was.

"There will be no royal decree, we will send Ravens however with this news. If you venture into another lord's land, it will be up to that individual lord whether you are allowed to remain in their lands or not," Jon Arryn explained.

"I thank you your grace, lord hand," Elegos bowed and stepped back.

Both Bella and Ray stepped forward, again bowing their heads.

"Your grace, Bella and I are both clerics of differing religions, some think we should be opposed to one another. In the Meadow we have begun construction of a temple, not to the New gods or the Maker, but to all gods. This is a place where followers of the old and new, the maker and creators can gather and pray," Ray explained.

"Recently we were visited by the High Septon, his intention was to intimidate us into stopping," Bella continued for Ray.

"Your grace, a moment please," Varys said.

He walked to Jon and Robert's side, whispering in their ear.

"We have information that confirmed that the High Septon hired mercenaries, though it is not uncommon for when a holy man travels," Arryn explained.

"Is it also common for High Septon's to make veiled threats against people whose religion differs from him?" Bella asked.

"The High Septon has served the realm and the gods faithfully for years, through even the dark times of the mad king. I am sure he simply wished to preserve the faith," Cersei said.

"And I respect him for that your grace, I simply came here to serve, the gods, the people and the crown, I do not wish for tragedy to be the result of ill informed decisions," Bella explained.

"What do you mean?" Robert asked.

"The High Septon, believed we were making a temple in dedication to our gods. We tried to explain to him, but he made what my lord assumed was a threat. Lord Fausten acted passionately, aggressively yes, but also passionately in defence of people under his protection. He did not hurt the Septon, he allowed the Septon to leave, and had immediately sought to rectify any harm he may have done."

"We came here not to promote one religion, but coexistence of all religions, I do not seek converts, that is why there are equal texts and symbols from all the gods in this temple we build. What I wish is to spread wisdom, the wisdom that the chant and the gods offer. I wish for the High Septon to carry on serving his gods, the realm and the crown, and for high born and lowborn to seek wisdom wherever they may find it."

"That is all my lords, ladies, my king, my queen," Bella bowed her head and stepped back respectfully.

Robert nodded his head as he stood.

"Build your temple, any consequences will be on you," the king said.

* * *

The Meadow opened its doors to people on pilgrimage. Dalish from multiple clans looked at the ruins in the forest. Stork and Elegost excavated several artefacts, tablets that contained excerpts of histories forgotten by Westeros.

"My understanding of the ancient Elvish language is as good as the average Dalish. But I think this excerpt makes reference to an old society. An age of heroes," Stork explained and Elegos walked to his side, looking over the tome.

"It looks like people tried to make this the ideal world before Lord Amell. It makes repeated references to quick children and forest children, but it uses the term Falon, friend," Elegos smiled.

He didn't share the hatred of humans some of his people did. Armed with this knowledge though, Fausten sent letters across Westeros, to Thedas itself. The intention had been to fill people with the knowledge that not everywhere in the world saw people warring with one another. Stork wrote of the discovery in the chronicle he was writing, of the Amell history in Westeros. A few more years passed, reputations grew, relationships grew and the people grew. The Meadow and the Amells of that land became as great as the kingdoms of Westeros. Mills were built, fenced farms, the village grew into a town and settlers formed villages on the Meadow. Fields spread across the once baron land and the happiness of the people spread.

Happiness eventually returned to the Amell family too. After nine years, Fausten smiled at himself in the mirror. He hadn't aged too terribly, and many suspected his capability as a warrior wasn't over either. He put away his razor, having finished trimming his greying beard and hair. The lord of the Meadow looked out of his window at the land he had built and the banners travelling down the hills.

"Golden roses, suns through spears, lizard-lions, bears, trout, mermen, eagles, horses, stags and lions. We've come so far, this is our home now, Aerys," Fausten whispered.

He turned to his mirror, checking his beard work a final time. But what he saw next, haunted him, and made him question his own sanity. Through the reflection of the mirror, he saw him. Not the mad king he remembered, but the prince he had befriended. He blinked, and then Aerys was gone.

Next Chapter 13: Through the years (The Circle)

* * *

A little look at some of their events through the years. It is now roughly a few months before significant events in Thedas, and maybe a year (or two) before significant events in Westeros.

Next time we return to Thedas, for Daylen flash forwards


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Age or A Song of Ice and Fire

* * *

House Amell of Westeros

Chapter 13: Through the years (the circle)

The day after his episode, life moved on for Daylen. He took the stares the other apprentices threw at him, sat with Jowan in silence and studied. There came a point when both boys began to make a joke out of the awkward silence. Daylen stuck his finger to the edge of his mouth, flicking it. It made a popping sound that echoed in the silent library. Likewise Jowan made an exaggerated yawning sound, even slammed his book shut hard. He'd frightened several of even the older mages.

"Do that trick you showed me the other day," Jowan dared him.

Grinning ear to ear, Daylen rolled up his sleeve, put one hand under his armpit, then flapped the arm. The farting sound the contact made, caused several of the mages to laugh. Even templars were holding their laughter in.

"Daylen," a stern voice spoke from the doorway.

Daylen and Jowan looked to see Irving standing there, shaking his head in disapproval. Despite this, Daylen laughed as a couple of the apprentices across the room repeated what he had done.

"Well, he could have influenced them with something much worse, at least he's capable of leading through example," Irving said to Greagoir when they met to discuss it.

That night, Daylen was cleaning the dishes, a pleased smile on his face.

But there came a time for such childish antics to end. Daylen didn't naturally grow out of it. Several things happened that made both himself and Jowan grow up. There came a day, when looking to show off, Daylen again climbed the library cases.

"Get down from there now," Wynn chided him.

"I'm nearly done, hey Neria, you wanted the tome on arcane reinforcement right?" he asked.

"Yeah and while you're up there, could you get the arcane formulas and runes book for me?" the elf girl asked.

"You mean arcane synthesis?" Daylen tossed one book over his shoulder.

"Daylen, get down from there this instant," Wynn stomped her foot on the ground.

"Oh come on, I'm not nearly high enough," he mumbled, foot slipping.

He grabbed a book, only for it to fall with him. When his shoulder slammed into the end of the table below him, a clicking sound echoed in the room. Followed by Daylen's cries of agony.

* * *

Daylen became less of a show off after that. Still someone who had fun, but not the one who triggered laughter amongst his peers. There came a day when Daylen was laughing with his circle of friends. He was thirteen when he saw a tranquil, a mage robbed of their magic, and their ability to feel.

"What's wrong Day?" Jowan asked.

He followed Daylen's line of sight to a pair of templars, with a mage. Except the mage was wearing brown robes, was quite a few years older than them and had some kind of brand on his forehead.

"What is that?" Surana asked.

"Tranquility," Daylen whispered.

"You mean severing your connection to the fade?" Jowan asked.

"And your magic, and your dreams, and your emotions," Daylen paused, looking at the tranquil mage. "That's Owain, I only spoke to him yesterday."

He broke off into a run, much to Jowan and Surana's confusion. But as they looked at the lack of expression on Owain's face, they too began to realise the importance of succeeding in the circle. Daylen didn't bother knocking on Irving's door, he just barged straight through.

"Why was Owain made tranquil?" he asked.

He had walked in on a meeting between Irving and the senior enchanters. There was Uldred and Wynn, plus Torrin and the near ancient Sweeney.

"Daylen, if you wait outside, I'll speak with you soon," Irving said, keeping his attention focused on the map. "I can see things going very wrong in Kirkwall, perhaps it is best if we open our doors to potential transfers."

"I hear the First Enchanter and Knight-Commander there are nearly at each other's throats," Torrin said.

"Owain, why was he made tranquil?" Daylen demanded again.

"BECAUSE LIKE YOU HE DID NOT KNOW WHEN TO SHOW RESPECT TO HIS SENIORS!" Uldred yelled.

"Uldred," Irving said, his voice strong as he looked at the man.

He shook his head, folding up the map and nodding to the other senior enchanters.

"You mustn't ask that question again," Irving said to the boy, once the last mage was out of the door.

"But Owain seemed so harmless, so in control," Daylen said.

"As we grow older, our power also grows, so too does the likelihood of our possession by demons. There are only two options for a mage, the harrowing, and the tranquillity ritual. Owain feared the unknown, and potentially fatal risks of the harrowing," Irving explained.

Daylen shook his head, "Don't tell me that he wanted to be made tranquil. What kind of choice is that, what kind of person chooses that kind of life?"

"I can't speak for Owain," Irving said.

"No one can, he may as well be dead," Daylen retorted.

He ran out of Irving's office, shaking his head in denial. After a few minutes, he saw Owain at the stockroom, his new job for the rest of his life.

"Hello Daylen, apprentices don't have access to the stock room, if you have a request, speak to a senior enchanter," Owain's voice droned, a far cry from how he used to speak.

"Why Owain, why give it up?" Daylen asked.

"You are upset, this is understandable Daylen. If it eases your mind, know that I do not regret my decision."

"Of course you don't, YOU CAN'T FEEL ANYTHING!" Daylen yelled. "If we're robbed of our emotions, of our dreams, then what the hell are we?"

Owain put down the board he was holding and looked Daylen in the eyes.

"My capacity to feel differs from yours, but you also differ from all other beings. Many across Thedas believe in a higher power, a Maker, or some form of god. Many base their day to day lives on this, they take comfort from it. You however do not believe, you believe in self determinism. The existence of a higher being, also implies a specific design, which in turn implies the existence of destiny. This is a direct opposition to your belief in self determinism.

"You believe humanity and emotions is what makes a person a person. Yet, you despise the notion of people hating one another for simply being. This is an inescapable fact, where there is difference, there will always be hatred. You yourself have experienced what happens when others judge with their eyes. The tranquil ritual is evil to you, but to many it is preferable to alternatives, and there are many, much crueller alternatives. No matter what their reasons, you disagree with them.

"You are no more a person than others Daylen, and I am no less a person than you are," Owain explained.

A tranquil had filled him with self doubt and shame. Daylen slept in bed, wondering if all that time he had been wrong. That he had been ignorant as well. It made him think of what Greagoir once told him, when he tried to tear apart and nitpick people's religion.

'I still don't believe, I'll never believe, but,' Daylen rolled over on his bed, hugging his covers tightly. 'I understand why others believe!'

Understanding was the lesson Owain taught him.

* * *

Responsibility was a lesson he learnt when he was fourteen. He had gotten taller, he was no giant but he was a few inches taller than Jowan, whom had been taller than him since they were children. Daylen had been assigned to welcome and guide a few new mages in the tower. One was unguidable, the people of the tower would come to know him as Anders. He was a bit older than the other new mages, he knew exactly what he was being robbed of by being sent to the tower. There came a point when he was put on his Harrowing early. Much to the shock (and perhaps disappointment) of the templars and his teachers, Anders passed it.

'Anders is defiant, a joker, and at the moment is lacking in dedication and responsibility, but he is a good mage,' was Daylen's opinion of him.

There was a Kossith mage who faced some discrimination. Kaaras was a free spirit whom never fell into any sort of depression. Unlike most Kossith though he wasn't a giant, and he didn't have horns. He looked more like a woman too, and he wasn't bothered by being misidentified as one. Daylen found Kaaras's attitude refreshing and a light in the often gloomy tower. Then there was Eadric, someone who taught Daylen that, sometimes no matter how hard you tried, you just couldn't connect with people. Eadric was an elf, and a moody one at that. Daylen had been able to find out that he had been raised on a farm, his mother a cook for the farmers there. Eadric seemed determined to be hostile to every human he met, save for his seniors.

'Kaaras accepts that there are those who do not care for his race, Eadric is self righteous, and ironically uncaring of his own prejudices,' were the opinions Daylen developed of those two.

There was Petra, who quickly became Wynn's apprentice. The red haired girl seemed to be Anders's opposite, dedicated to the circle and a brilliant mage sent to her Harrowing early.

'She's Wynn, without having to go into a pro-circle diatribe.'

Daylen liked Petra, something Neria often teased him about.

"You like your red heads don't you?" she asked him.

She wasn't one of the boys anymore, she was beginning to look more and more like a woman. But she was still Jowan and Daylen's constant friend.

"Where one is, the other two are always sure to be," Wynn sometimes said of them.

"I hope not, Jowan snores," Daylen quipped.

"Very funny," Jowan would often dryly say.

Kinnon was another mage who entered the circle. He was an earnest young man, who although had the same initial denial of his situation most mages had, quickly threw himself into lessons. He even found the fun side of being in the circle.

"My parents don't have to worry about another mouth to feed now, I have a place to sleep, and I can actually get an education other people don't have," Kinnon explained.

"That's a good point of view Kinnon, we are somewhat lucky to be here, most have to struggle to get by," Daylen said.

Another thing Daylen came to see, for as bad as his situation was, there were many in Thedas who didn't have access to books or a guaranteed meal ticket. The fire of defiance within him, that drove him to challenge others was gone. Even Keili, a devoted follower of the chant who regularly prayed, and had a hatred for her own abilities, never elicited frustration or anger from Daylen.

"Magic is a curse, and I pray every day for forgiveness from the maker," she said to Daylen once.

"The Chant itself states that whilst all are born to sin, the very act of existence is not a sin. If anything existence is the miracle," Daylen said.

"Magic has brought so much suffering into this world, the Tevinter Imperium, the blight, abominations and mad apostates," Keili explained.

"But for every apostate there are those who use magic to help people, some are even apostates themselves," Daylen added.

It was an argument, but Daylen never raised his voice and his expression never gave away any sign that he was trying to be right.

"You don't need magic to help people, I would gladly renounces my magic if it meant I could join the chantry and help people."

"True, chantry priests can help people, but so too can mages, if they're allowed to. Magic doesn't have to be an obstacle, but rather a tool you can use to help people. Realistically, you'd be able to heal a wound much better with magic than you would with a roll of bandages and a poultice," Daylen explained.

Keili never renounced her self loathing, and Daylen never pushed her.

"Sometimes you can't change people, doesn't mean you don't try," Daylen said as he and Jowan walked to their lessons.

"I'm surprise you didn't try to correct her on her obvious misinterpretation of the canticles," Jowan said.

"Well that's kind of all the canticles are, interpretations, even something that is frustratingly vague can still be believed in," Daylen said.

They came to a halt at the door to the practice area. Their path was partly blocked by another of the new mages. Thirteen years old, a human boy with blonde hair and blue eyes. He bowed in respect to the two older boys.

"Uldred hasn't arrived yet Daylen, and I was hoping you could explain and demonstrate fire magic for me," the boy said.

"You know I don't use fire magic when I can help it," Daylen said.

"Wasn't Uldred going to be teaching you about the entropy school not the primal?" Jowan asked.

"Of course, I'm sorry Jowan, it's just a lot of people say that Daylen is better at primal magic than anyone in the tower," the boy complimented, looking at Daylen with admiration.

"Uldred and Irving's knowledge and experience in using all of the schools of magic, is better than mine. For all his personal flaws, Uldred has a much better knowledge and power over entropic spells than even the First-Enchanter. He's a good mage, learn from him!"

"Thank you for the advice Daylen," the boy said, bowing his head again before he walked away.

"Careful Day, you have an admirer," Jowan grinned.

"Very funny," Daylen chuckled, crossing his arms. "Still, it was a bit strange, Uldred is already teaching him, why would he need another teacher?"

"Maybe he isn't happy being good at one thing, like some people we know," Jowan said.

"I want to know more, I want to get as much control of my power as I can," Daylen said.

They walked into the practice area, under the watch of senior enchanters and templars, they used spells. Irving watched Daylen with a smile on his face. The boy was his apprentice, none disputed that. As some of the mages practiced with elements, Daylen used his control over the arcane energies. He wasn't actually shooting at targets, but practicing with the Arcane shield. Irving noted how the blonde haired boy from earlier, looked at Daylen. He watched him form the arcane energy into a shape around his arm. That was all Daylen did, and whilst some saw it as a waste of his time, Irving knew what he was doing. As far back as the boy was nine, Irving had seen Daylen shaping magical energy into strings between his fingers, into simplistic shapes like squares or balls.

"Excuse me Daylen, what were you doing earlier?" the boy asked.

"Practicing," was Daylen's simple reply.

"By using energy to form shapes, you realise that it has no practical use."

"Depends on how they're used," Daylen retorted.

"Maybe if you developed the schools of magic and dedicated yourself to advancing in the circle, you might become privileged enough to join the elite," the boy explained.

"How can a circle mage advance?" Jowan scoffed.

"They've done it in Orlais, there is the Enchanter to the Imperial court, and the Knight-Enchanters, the elite," there was a glint in the boy's eyes, as if he was speaking of a dream he had.

Even in the circle, people had their dreams.

"Anything is possible, at the moment though Enchanter to the Imperial court is no better than a court jester," Daylen said, making Jowan chuckle.

"So that would be the position your foolish friend would take, mediocre positions for mediocre people."

"I've noted though that Jowan is better in his control of spirit magic than you, Leo!"

Leo shook his head in anger, squeezing his hand into a fist.

"Well, it doesn't matter, I would study the art of the elite Knight-Enchanters, it is a shame though that we can't access the ingredients necessary to become one," Leo explained.

"Three wisp essences and ten ounces of lazurite, you realise that's just ceremonial, you can perform their branch of magic without them," Daylen explained.

"It shows how much you know, you have the manifest the blade with the spirit hilt," Leo said.

"True such things as a staff and hilt help us to channel and direct our magic, but we produce the magic ourselves," Daylen retorted.

"And you don't actually use the hilt you've made, so it kind of seems like a waste of time to get it," Jowan added.

Leo shook his head as he walked away. From that boy, Daylen learnt not to trust too much. He initially was polite and respectful, but that changed when it was clear he wouldn't get what he wanted.

"How did you know he wasn't sincere?" Jowan asked.

"A shift in his gaze, a twitch in his brow, people have tells that you can spot when you look at them," Daylen explained.

"You judged his body language?"

"That and, I'm not sure but I just didn't trust him, my instincts tell me he is an untrustworthy person," Daylen said.

"What do your instincts tell you about me?" Jowan asked.

"That you're my friend," Daylen smiled, and Jowan smiled back.

Life continued on, and as the years went by, Daylen and the other mages grew. Anders developed the reputation of being the escapist. The mages couldn't exercise outside anymore because of one of Anders's escape attempts. It almost became a pattern for him to escape, and then a few days later be brought back. Petra passed her harrowing, and moved to the upper dorms, even taking on a few students of her own from the much younger additions to the tower.

"You set the example for me to set to those I guide in the tower," she told Daylen.

At sixteen, he was showing slightly the man he would become. He had completely lost his baby fat, had grown wild neck length hair and was considered handsome by some of the girls. But with his maturity had come a discipline. He didn't think of himself as someone with all the answers. That didn't stop a somewhat competitive streak with Leo, who had also grown into a handsome teen. Though not as tall as Daylen, whenever he had his shirt off it was seen that he was lean. And his magic too had developed. His primal magic was second to Daylen's, but his entropic magic far surpassed his.

"Have the shapes you made proven useful yet?" Leo asked him.

They were in the dining hall at the time. Jowan was somewhere, Daylen saw a little less of his friend. They hadn't fallen out, Daylen suspected that Jowan had new interests that drew his attention. Leo sat in front of him, his fierce red robes a contrast to Daylen's cool blue ones. Even their eyes contrasted, despite the exchange of colours. Leo's eyes always held a ferocity to them, an ambition. Daylen's however was calm, only showing that he was constantly thinking.

"I heard you actually deflected one of Uldred's spells the other day, an impressive feat," Daylen said.

"Whilst you prefer to disperse spells, or take the brunt of them, ensuring no collateral damage. That is impressive, but quite foolish," Leo said.

"The goal is to keep people safe," Daylen shrugged.

"But you expel more mana, and exhaust yourself more," Leo retorted.

"You speak as if fighting is an inevitability," Daylen said.

"And do you not think so?" Leo asked.

"I think that sometimes you can't avoid a fight. But you should do everything you can to ensure that that fight doesn't consume other people, especially when it's a fight you've started," Daylen explained.

"Truly?"

Leo seemed quite shocked and taken aback by Daylen's statement. Then he began to laugh, standing up and turning away from Daylen.

"There is something quite fascinating about you Daylen Amell, but also quite foolish," he said.

"That is a perspective many share," Daylen nodded his head.

He never rose to a taunt, and that frustrated Leo. The teen walked away, looking at Neria Surana as he passed. She had grown very beautiful, her ears poking out of her fiery red hair. Sitting herself in front of Daylen, she gave him a roll of bread.

"You gave yours to the children again," she said.

"Actually I emptied the dough and poked sweets in there, small comforts will make them feel like children still," Daylen smiled, pushing the roll back to her.

"Where did you get the sweets from?" she asked.

"Anders's stash, don't ask me how he sneaks them past the guards!"

"Irving told me that I'm going to be ready for my Harrowing soon," she said.

"You'll pass, I'm sure of it," Daylen said.

"Thank you, but you should save some of that confidence for yourself. Once we've passed, we'll be full fledged circle mages, able to go outside when we're needed," Neria explained.

"Able to help people, so long as we're told to," Daylen whispered.

"Don't give up Day, you can still fulfil your dream," Neria said.

She touched his hand and smiled. He hesitantly moved it away, his eyes darting to the templar guards.

"Having dreams and ideals is good, but you have to make them realistic," he said.

Like Leo before her, Neria stood up and walked away. Only it was with a disappointed sigh, she looked over her shoulder and saw the depression even Jowan didn't see. For as strong Daylen had grown, as powerful and as wise he was beginning to be, he wasn't happy. He had an unhappiness born of being unable to fulfil his purpose.

'Your dreams and ideals are realistic Daylen, you just have to have the will to make them so,' Neria thought.

Daylen stayed awake at night, looking up at the ceiling, imagining the stars in the sky. He imagined his bed was grass, that the wind was blowing through his hair. That he was in the Meadow, with his family. Reaching underneath his pillow, he pulled out some of the letters he had gotten. They were the only prized possessions he had in the world, and there were times he read them, forming a small flame in his hand.

* * *

 _Dear Daylen_

 _I don't know if you remember me._

 _Your mother and grandfather have been able to create something great here in the Meadow. It has been a good start, towards your grandfather achieving his dream. A land where everyone can be happy. We have completed construction of a church, not just to the Maker, but to any god, for we carry our gods in our hearts._

 _I will not pretend to understand the burden of being a mage. Of bearing the power, and living in a gilded cage. But know that it must have happened for a reason._

 _What I speak of is not some platitude of the Maker. I speak of finding meaning in the course of your life. Though you may never become a knight, or a lord, there are other things that can give your life meaning. The acquisition of knowledge, the mastery of your power, in service to others._

 _'Magic exits to serve man, not rule over him'_

 _I know you have questioned this statement. Even non mages question it. Find your own interpretation of it, but more importantly, find happiness in your life. Know that in that tower, there are others who understand what you are going through._

 _With the same love I have for your mother_

 _Bella_

* * *

 _To my nephew_

 _I am sorry I have not written to you. Westeros expects me to run father's land, your grandfather has more than a few years left in him. No, my time will be dedicated to walking the path I wish to walk. The path of a warrior, of a knight. Yet, more and more I wonder, is the path of the knight truly the righteous. I will not lie to you Daylen, I have witnessed many atrocities in Westeros, yet this is supposedly a time of peace. Lords executing men for the smallest things, and the way they treat women, as if mere possessions. I had seen lords wear the faces of reasonable men, even be called honourable men. Yet I see no true honour, I see no honour in the kingsguard, even the great Barristan the bold._

 _Yes, he is a fantastic fighter. Yet the man claims allegiance to a crown, a crown and nothing more. What if the crown is worn by a man unworthy of it, what if you are commanded to kill the innocent. No, I search for another way, a different wow._

 _I am sorry to have troubled you with this letter, I hope your studies are going well._

 _With love_

 _Damion_

* * *

 _To Daylen_

 _Life in the Meadow is simple, we're happy here. Finally, I think we've gained a home. Everyday a new village is settled, a new road built. Your siblings are growing as well, Dayk is such a cute child, Revion is as brilliant as you and Dayla has a fire in her that outshines the one I had as a child. Lords from far and wide have tried to court me, flowers and songs, some even duelling for my honour. You don't have to worry, I have no intention of marrying._

 _Love is a powerful thing Daylen, it doesn't have to be defined by marriage. Often times marriages aren't carried out for love, it is sadly something that happens too often now. My love is my family, the Meadow and my dreams. I hope for all of my children to grow up happy and healthy. Even if you're far away, I wish that for you too._

 _With love always_

 _From your mother_

* * *

 _Yo Day_

 _No, we should start the letter with Dear Daylen_

 _I know it is formal Stork, okay just write to Daylen._

 _Every day I wake up, go outside my house and look at the incredible fields of veg and livestock that grows on our land. Seasons last a long time, a Summer can be long and peaceful and a Winter Harsh. We need to stock up, rationing Daylen, it is an important thing in times of strife._

 _No Stork we won't have to worry about that, I don't have to imply that in the letter, Daylen knows that we'll be safe._

 _We are safe Daylen, I hope you are learning how to control your magic well. One day I might go to Thedas, and see just how strong you have become._

 _Wait a minute, Stork, have you written everything I've said again?_

 _Forget it, just write that it's from me_

 _Fausten Amell_

* * *

 _To Daylen_

 _Long I have wondered, what honour is, what a code is. What is worth fighting for in this world. I hope this letter reaches you._

 _When you have an ideal, you should stand by it. For that is the true test of an ideal. When whatever is after us comes to pass, will you say that you did not act because honour and righteousness was not convenient at the time? This is not acceptable, in the eyes of the maker, or to your ideals._

 _I hope you are well, and I hope you remain true to what you believe is right_

 _With love from your uncle_

 _Damion Amell_

* * *

 _To Daylen_

 _War broke out in the Iron islands. King Robert sent out the call and the Amells answered._

 _A man I met today told me that there is a savage beast in every man, and when you hand that man a sword or spear and send him forth to war, the beast stirs. The scent of blood is all it takes to wake him._

 _Damion is dead. He died protecting the weak._

 _His life at least had meaning. He saved many lives, living up to the ideal of hero that I wished to follow. You have a cousin, Aristanna, we have gained new friends in the Meadow._

 _His life had meaning_

 _With love from Fausten_

* * *

Daylen lowered the last letter he read, sniffing as tears welled up in his eyes.

'Uncle Damion, your death, it was pointless,' he thought.

Again he went through the day, training, studying, demonstrating his control of magic. Then again he went through the motions of reading the family letters.

* * *

 _To Daylen_

 _Sorry I haven't sent a letter in a while. Stork has stopped writing for me, so no funny letters I'm afraid._

 _We have a keep now, a castle of our own. Nothing to boast of really. Well, I'll boast a little bit, whilst most in Westeros are probably shows of riches, ours is a show of power. It won't be broken, that I am sure of._

 _I hope you are doing well_

 _From Fausten_

* * *

 _To Daylen_

 _I am your brother and I write this letter to you in hopes you will respond. Mother doesn't know, grandfather doesn't know, not even our sister, cousin and brother know._

 _I hate you_

 _I have hated you, since the day mother first began speaking your name. There was always a level of affection in her tone of voice, that she never had with me. I was her youngest, her baby, and yet her mind is always on you. When we played, she would talk about you, when we studied, she would talk about you. Not even grandfather has said it, but I am sure if you were here, he would have made you his heir._

 _Our cousin Aristanna performs the most beautiful of melodies, which she dedicates to you. Our brother Revion flutters from house to house, seeking knowledge, yet never connecting with people. It was mother's focus on you that made him this way. Even our sister, seemingly strong is weak. She picks up a spear and learns to fight because she wishes to be a hero, a dream of grandfather's passed on to you, but you can't be a hero can you. Living up to that dream got our uncle killed._

 _If you have even a shred of love for your family, write back to us._

 _Tell mother and grandfather not to send you any more letters, to stop worrying about you. Tell them to focus on advancing the house._

 _Dayk Amell_

* * *

Daylen put the letter down and prepared parchment and a quill. His expression was empty as he dipped the quill into the pot and began to write:

 _To the entire family_

 _I am sorry that this will be the only letter I send to you. It is to ease any fears that you have. I have settled into life at the circle. I have accepted that this is my life now, that I will live at the circle, grow old at the circle and die at the circle. My magic is under control, and many believe that I will succeed here. The best thing I can hope to achieve is perhaps becoming First-Enchanter one day._

 _Now that you know this, I want you to stop sending me letters. Stop thinking about me, stop speaking of me, focus on what is in front of you. Don't cast your eyes to a place far away, to a child who isn't going anywhere._

 _I love you all very much_

 _From Daylen, mage of the circle_

There was a smudge on the parchment, and his hand writing was scruffy. He put his arm to his eyes, keeping the tears from hitting the paper. Daylen turned away from the table, took the note and stood up. He slammed his hand against the wall, letting out a cry of frustration.

'What was the point?' Daylen wondered as he walked out of the dorms.

He'd give the letter to the templar guard nearby, ask him to send the letter in the morning.

'Uncle Damion, no, Damion Amell, I'm not an Amell, I shouldn't be. My dreams are meaningless, my happiness is meaningless, my achievements meaningless,' he leant against the wall, shaking his head. 'Stop it, stop feeling such self pity, you're pathetic Daylen,' he thought.

He took a deep breath, returned his expression back to the mask of collected calm.

'This is your life now, accept it,' Daylen thought, turning to the approaching templar guard.

"What are you doing out of bed?" the man asked.

"I just wanted to give you this letter, please turn it into the dispatch tomorrow," Daylen said.

"What do I look like to you a..."

 **Crash!**

The ceiling came down so suddenly, so fiercely too that it seemed like a flash. One minute the guard was scoffing, then the next he was crushed. Daylen stood frozen in place as a mass of blood came down from the ceiling. Then a figure landed, enshrouded with black and blood red armour, armour that looked as if it was passing between solid and liquid. Whoever was in the armour held a spirit blade, only it was black like a shadow.

"Well, if it isn't my lucky day," a voice said beneath the horned helmet.

The helmet began to ooze, dripping like blood down onto the floor, revealing the face of the man who raised his blade to Daylen.

"I finally get to kill you," Leo said, before he thrust the blade forward.

Next Chapter 14: The legend of Surana

* * *

Things heat up next chapter


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: I don't own a Song of Ice and Fire or Dragon Age

* * *

This is her story, a little elf girl from the Denerim alienage. The elves, for all of their shared suffering, can be just as cruel to one another as humans are. Despite the strong connection elves have to magic, they too can be fearful of it. The Dalish sometimes look down upon the city elves for not knowing what it means to be elf. Whilst the city elves sometimes look down upon the Dalish for living primitive lives. The little girl had the best of both prejudices. Her father was Dalish, her mother a city elf. Though a great love birthed her, and she filled them with great joy, in time, the joy turned into misery.

"Mama, why isn't Papa moving?"

In the rain her father was buried.

"Mama, why are they burying Papa? Please don't let them bury Papa, he won't be able to read me a bed time story."

"Oh Neria, I'm sorry, he can't do anything for us anymore."

In the rain she cried for the first time, and knew sorrow for the first time.

In the flames, she knew rage for the first time.

* * *

House Amell of Westeros

Chapter 14: The Legend of Neria Surana

"Get out of here ink face!"

From an early age, Neria had known what it felt like to be hated. But she never held it against her city neighbours. The teasing of children was nothing compared to what human nobles could throw at her. She always ran straight home, laughing and smiling with her fake Dalish markings on her face. Her mother set her beside the dining chair, spitting on a cloth and wiping the face paint away.

"Neria, why do you keep having to do this?" she asked.

"It's fun, one day I'm going to draw whiskers on my cheeks," the little girl giggled.

"They were chasing you Neria, they wanted to hurt you," her mother said.

"Don't worry mama, they didn't really want to hurt me," Neria said.

"You don't know that."

"But I do, when they threw their rocks, their hearts just weren't in it," Neria said.

For a moment her mother believed her, but she continued to think differently. Days turned into months, and months to years. As the date changed, so too did the circumstances of her life. She knew her mother once worked as a cook. But when they moved to a smaller hut, Neria's time outside grew longer, and her mother performed other services.

"Mama," Neria whispered, when she saw the human man on top of her.

"You have a child, wait, you're older than you look aren't you, bitch, you said you were a virgin," the man snarled.

"No, please, Neria I told you not to come back until the sun had set, you idiot child."

She regretted hitting her. But Neria was never quite happy with her mother after that. Another year passed and Neria's mother stopped having men over. Or at least she stopped having them in her bed. One day Neria came back and saw her mother kneeling to a man in the kitchen.

"Mama," she whispered.

The man was in red clothes, and turned his head towards Neria. A warm smile crossed his face. His hair was white, skin tanned and eyes yellow.

"Ah, you must be Neria, wonderful to meet you," the man said.

His voice was smooth, too smooth, and her mother seemed different in some way. Worse than she had been when her father's lung condition finally took him. Neria laid awake at night, fearful of her mother, watching her pray at the fire place. Pray to something called, R'hllor.

* * *

Another year passed and Neria again came back from playing in the streets. As well as the man from before, there was a human woman with her mother. Her hair was red, like the dress she wore, there was also a jewel around her neck. Looking at the woman, made Neria feel uneasy. The woman looked at her, as if looking into her very soul and she smiled.

"There is power within her, her father was not simply Dalish, he had the blood of kings, kings older than humanity," the woman, the red priestess said.

A few days later Neria and her mother were put onto a carriage. The red priestess sat with them, her eyes on Neria the whole journey.

"What do you believe girl?" she asked Neria.

"I believe in the creators, and the maker," Neria smiled as she spoke.

A smirk crossed the woman's face. She leant forward, taking Neria by her chin.

"The creators, false gods, the Maker, a fiction, there is only one god, the lord of light. Sins, canticles, these things do not truly exist. There is only good or evil, the war between the living and the dead," she explained.

Neria blinked.

"You're a bit crazy aren't you? And if the creators and the maker are fictional, then ditto for Rallor!"

She heard the man in red laugh. The red priestess however still smirked.

"Soon you will see," she whispered.

She could smell the salt air, hear the rush of the water. It was her first time on the beach. Night had fallen, and torches had lit up the beach. Human men and women had gathered on that beach, looking at the red priestess with the same devotion Neria's mother had when she looked at the flames. Neria held her mother's hand as they climbed out of the carriage. The people cleared the way for them, and when they were no longer obscuring their vision, Neria gasped in horror. People had been strapped to stakes.

"GET US OFF!"

"PLEASE HELP US!"

"STOP!"

"Mama, what's happening?" Neria asked.

"Don't look away child," her mother said. "See their souls rise Neria, see their souls rise."

Neria was still horrified, looking towards the red priestess. She was holding a torch.

"Mama, she's going to burn them, she's going to burn them," Neria tugged on her sleeve.

"Fire is the purest death," her mother was smiling, actually smiling.

"No it isn't, they're going to scream, they're going to die, don't let them die mama, don't let them die!" Neria was frantic, screaming as the red priestess lit the stakes.

"The night is dark and full of terrors," the priestess said.

Neria grit her teeth together. She couldn't watch this. It was wrong. She wouldn't watch.

"NERIA!" her mother screamed.

She was running, running with everything she had through the crowds. Weaving between and underneath their legs, she made for the stakes. Suddenly, her arm was grabbed by the red priestess.

"They will scream, but mother's scream before birth," she said.

That look of total certainty, the smile on her face. It filled Neria with such rage, she wanted her to burn.

"YOU CRAZY WITCH!" she yelled.

The woman backed away, shocked as flames rose from Neria's body. The girl jumped onto one of the stakes. She had to save someone, just one person. The boy looked at her, looked at her glowing eyes in awe. To him, she was greater than this dark god these foreigners worshipped.

To Alistair, she had been his saviour.

Pulling the boy free, Neria and her charge fell onto the sand, looking up at the worshippers of R'hllor.

"Get them both onto the stake."

"They must be burned."

Neria seethed, glaring at them.

"You like burning things right? Why don't you give it a try? BURN!" she screamed.

She wasn't shocked, she wasn't horrified when they did burn. They deserved it. Their opinions on fire and its purity changed, and they fled. Neria knew not what happened to the red priestess or the man in red. She also didn't care what happened to her mother. She didn't even care when the templars took her to the tower.

* * *

When Neria first arrived at the tower, she felt like there was nothing she could do. She felt like there was no point to carrying on. Her father was dead, of a condition she feared she might one day contract. And her mother had become a fanatic to a religion she knew nothing of, but despised already. She hated her life so much, that for a moment, she considered taking it. Or allowing herself to be made tranquil. Then she wouldn't have to care anymore, she wouldn't have to worry about other people anymore. People were cruel, they would become cruel, they would cast aside their ideals and their dreams for whatever trivial reason they could think of. Most trivial of all, god.

"Leave them alone!"

Then she saw him, that red eyed boy, standing up for elves. He stood up to templars, stood up to the senior mages, and even when things seemed sad he put on a smile. Even when it hurt he put on a smile. He was her friend. As years went by, as they grew into teens, he became someone she looked up to.

"To this day, I still don't know why they would have burned me," she told him everything, of the day she felt she lost her mother.

"There is always a reason, but what reason would be good enough to burn children," he said.

"I think that if I had done nothing, and had gone with them, there would have come a day when I would have been on the stake," she confessed.

"More than anything, I want to be a hero," he told her his dream and she found it beautiful.

He became someone she dreamed of being with. But when their lips touched for the first time, she cried.

"I'm sorry, I'm really sorry I did that," she said to him.

"Don't be sorry for that, it was good, but, we can't have more than that," he told her.

She saw what was underneath him, she saw all the love he had. He loved others, loved their lives, loved their possible lives. He didn't have hatred for anyone, only the wish that they would live happily and wisely. That was the fundamental basis of his dream to be a hero. It was what she loved most about him. But it was also a trait that over the years had crippled his will. He was no better than a golem, going through life day by day.

"Don't give up," she told him.

* * *

Her path and her tale, was reaching its end. The day she was taken up to the spire of the tower, would change everything for her. This was her tale, her legend, and the final chapters of that tale would be in this tower she had lived in for a small chunk of her life. The Harrowing would be the pivotal moment of her tale.

"This is the harrowing, go into the fade, face a demon, survive, but know this mage, if you fail, or you take too long, we templars will do our duty," the Knight-Commander told her.

"As I hope you would sir," she said.

She closed her eyes, summoned the power within her and touched the Lyrium. The fade was shaped by ones expectations, ones imagination. Her version of the fade, was an odd mix of the streets and the tower she had lived in. She looked at her hands, she was still her teenage self, still a mage of the tower.

"Another poor soul, sent to fend for herself," a Mouse of all things said.

Her eyebrow twitched before she squealed, jumping back.

"How, how are you talking?" she asked, looking down at the Mouse.

A sigh escaped the Mouse's nostrils, before it turned into pure light. The light grew, taking on the form of a man.

"I'm like you, sent here by the templars to die," he said.

"I've never heard of a person's spirit being trapped in the fade," she said.

"You aren't told a great many things, there are secrets in the fade that would change everything in your world," Mouse said.

"My world, not ours?" she asked.

The man crossed his arms, stepping back.

"You'd best hurry, if you take too long, the templars will assume you have failed."

Weary of him, but heeding his advice, she ran onwards. Through the shifting streets and corridors of the fade. Her magic blazed her trail, light from her hands casting aside the ghosts and wisps that got in her way. Trials and puzzles presented themselves to her.

"All things it devours, birds, beasts, trees, flowers. Gnaws iron, bites steel, grinds hard stones to meal," demons spoke riddles to her.

"Time," and she answered.

"You have proven your valour, here, a staff to protect you," spirits had been impressed by her.

Onward she ran, until she heard the sea, and felt the wind. The fade changed to that beach. But there were no flames there that day. Only the smiling form of he she had come to love. He raised his hands, offering her an embrace.

"Come to me, be with me," he said to her.

No, it said to her.

'It is not him,' she told herself.

She focused, seeing not the man she loved, but a demon of desire, his naked flesh a parody of what she pictured beneath the robes. Slamming her staff down, she called forth all her power and threw her hand forward.

It had been done, her trial was over.

* * *

Neria awoke, in the middle of the night. She smiled, content in the knowledge that she had acted in the best of her ability. But above all that, she was alive and the future was a closed book. The uncertainty of her future didn't scare her. Opening that book, and the turning of each page was in her hands. That was at least how she saw it. She climbed out of her bed, her robe was beside her.

"You were overheating," Petra said, she too was awake.

"Thank you, I thought I'd be in my old quarters," Neria said.

"Sometimes mages that pass get moved here pretty quickly, congratulations on the harrowing."

"Thank you Petra, so when will we be going outside?" Neria asked.

"We won't," Petra said.

"But I thought that once we became fully fledged circle mages, we would be able to go outside and serve the chantry," Neria said.

"I thought so too, the reality however is that...well at least the templars say that mages shouldn't be outside for their safety and the safety of the people. If there is some kind of crisis then we'll be sent out to assist," Petra explained.

"You mean if there is a war, then we'll be used as weapons," Neria shook her head in disgust.

"We don't take sides in politics, I heard there was some kind of arrangement between the circles and the grey wardens. But there hasn't been a blight in four hundred years, some doubt it'll happen again," Petra explained.

"I don't pray for such a day, but we must never assume something terrible won't happen in our generation," Neria said.

What had begun as her driving force, turned into her greatest disappointment. When she was introduced to her duties the next day, she didn't have the passion in her eyes she used to. In fact, her eyes and expression seemed more like Daylen's, drained of her enthusiasm and hope. She was assigned as apprentice and assistant to one of the newest Senior Enchanters, Leorah. The elf woman was a glorified storage supervisor, taking stock of items in the storage cave. She was new to her position and her job, and on her first day there, Neria spotted several mistakes of Leorah's. Mistakes that if not dealt with would result in infestations down the line. Neria placed wards on the cracked walls, they would hold until Leorah had builders attend to them.

"I will be counting and recording stock, you will see to any infestations," Leorah said to her.

"Are there any other duties I can perform, I was hoping for something more educational than pest control," Neria said.

"I remember seeing you often with that red eyed boy, dreaming of adventures, the reality of circle life is dull and one day you'll be thankful for it," Leorah huffed as she turned away from her.

'Perhaps I will be grateful, but surely something like that should be my choice,' Neria thought.

She returned to her quarters and slept, the life she could have lived haunting her dreams. It was comforting to live in that dream for but a small moment. The dream was of a normal life, her father alive, her mother's faith balanced, not tumbling into fanaticism. Above those things though she dreamed of that boy holding her, kissing her, loving her. She had dreams of his happiness, with the family he would never know. The heroic and wise grandfather, the fiery and beautiful mother, the honourable and determined uncle. And through that dream she saw the meadow, the former grounds of her people, turned into a ground for all races. The dream was his, a world where people could be happy together. Where people like Adaar could accept their gender identity, regardless of the sex they were born as. Where Anders would be free to love who he wished, regardless of their gender. A world only made possible in dreams. Her little escape from the tower, for just a moment, But like all dreams, it had to end, she woke up every time. She woke up every time and watched the training and grooming of more young mages, the arrival of more children forced to give up their dreams. Fire, ice, runes, she saw them shape spell after spell, going through the same warm ups she did.. It came to the point when she actually predicted what she would see the day afterwards. Her destiny was set in stone, but at night, she wondered what if.

'What if you loved me, as much as I love you?'

It didn't have to be a normal life, it didn't have to be with their family. They could have just been together. On a farm, in a cave, on the road, the two of them would be walking the same path. Because his dream was beautiful, to give oneself for others. She wanted to be like that too, to pass that happiness onto other people, to share it with him. When she awoke it was as much a relief as it was a torture for her. She couldn't stay too long in a dream, yet paradoxically yearned to. In the dining hall, she looked at the depression on Daylen's face, it was worse than it had been before. Gone was that fire in his eyes, and in his heart.

"Daylen," she walked over to his table, putting down her soup and water cup.

He looked up at her, putting on that smile she always knew was faked.

"Congratulations on passing your Harrowing," he said.

Grabbing his bowl, he stood up to leave.

"Don't shut me out," she said, making him stop for a moment.

"Don't worry about me Neria, you have nothing to worry about," he said.

"Daylen!"

"I'm not going anywhere," he spoke firmly, perhaps harsher than he meant to.

He grimaced for that, seeing the hurt look in her eyes. But he didn't stop, part of him felt he couldn't stop.

"It's the simple truth, I'm not going anywhere Neria, maybe some of us have a chance but me, why would they let the marked blood mage out? I've come to accept that there is nothing wrong with that," he explained.

"Everything is wrong with that, you more than any of us deserve to go out there," she retorted.

Daylen shook his head, walking away, unwilling to listen anymore. Neria remained awake that night, unable to sleep. She rolled over on her bed, looking at the floor, imagining the bedrooms beneath them.

'You can have more than you think Daylen,' she thought.

That's when she heard it, the great crashing sound. It came from the ceiling, the bricks crashing down onto the floor. Some of the other girls were hit by the falling debris. Neria rolled out of bed, looking towards the creature that landed in the middle of the girl's quarters. When the dust settled, she saw who it was. Leo, a grin plastered across his face, his top ripped off. There were fierce cuts on his shoulders, ones that blood oozed out of, forming bladed tentacles. The doors burst open, revealing the templar guards.

"STAY BACK!" they yelled.

Energy poured out of Leo's hand as he turned to the guards. He slammed his hand into the ground, three pulsing yellow rings suddenly spread in the area around him. They trapped the girls and the templar guards. It was a Mass paralysis spell of the entropy school of magic. Suddenly, Leo crashed into both guards, his blood tentacles stabbing into their necks.

'He increased his speed with haste from the creation school,' Neria realised, seeing the subtle after image he left.

"As much as I would like to stay ladies, I have places to be, it's time I dumped this tower, it has already fulfilled its purpose for me," Leo explained.

He deactivated his haste spell and switched it for rock armour, crashing through the door. Petra was already on her feet, dispelling the paralysis and crouching by the templars. One was definitely dead, but the other was desperately clutching the wound on his neck.

"You two, see to him, you four, try to clog up that hole, ice or earth, anything you can manage with," Petra stated, taking charge of the group.

In the confusion however, Neria slipped on her robes and followed the path of destruction that Leo left in his wake. He had burst through the floor again. Neria ran to the stairs, determined to do something to help the templars and enchanters stop the abomination Leo had become. Running down the steps, she thought of everything she would do. Of all the spells she thought of a grease wisp, a glyph of paralysis, and a disorient spell, anything that would slow his moments. But she couldn't stop at simply slowing him down for the templars. She had to make subduing him as easy as possible for them, there was only so much a cleanse could do. A misdirection hex was her best chance of rendering Leo's overly aggressive tactics useless. She finally reached the next floor, and broke off into a run towards where she calculated Leo had landed.

When she got there however, her heart froze and she screamed.

Legs dangling off of the floor, his blood dripping onto it, was Daylen. Leo had transformed again, forming some kind of armour of blood, red veins on his cheeks . He was smiling, holding a sword that had Daylen impaled on it.

"Finally, I finally killed you," Leo began to laugh, pulling his head back and cackling.

He swung his sword around, cruelly throwing Daylen across the room. Neria nearly fell, clutching her heart and stumbling to where Daylen had landed. She looked towards Leo, the mad man cackling as he continued his rampage. Neria was about to move forward, prepared to unleash her rage on the monster. But she stopped, looking towards Daylen. He was lying on his side, lifeless, face forever locked in a sorrowful expression, eyes empty and grey.

"No, maker, creators please no," Neria whispered.

She slid to her knees, turning Daylen and resting his head on her lap.

"Please no, please no," tears began to well up in her eyes as she cradled his body.

"Daylen," Neria looked up.

Jowan stood in front of her, alongside Kaaras. The Kossith boy lowered his head as he looked at his idol. Jowan however fell to his knees, tears flooding from his eyes.

"Not you, anyone but you," Jowan whispered.

She cradled and hugged him, losing herself for a moment in the sorrow. But only for a moment.

"I refuse, to accept this," she grit her teeth together. "Give him back, give back the best man there is, give him back Maker, and you'd needn't worry about humanity. Give him back creators, and there will be a world better than Arlathan, I know it. Give him back, give him back you bastards! STOP TAKING FOR ONCE AND JUST GIVE BACK TO US!" she screamed.

She looked into Daylen's eyes, gone was the red she found so beautiful from him.

'The red, the red,' Neria thought.

She brought up her wrist, looking at the veins. Jowan followed her eyes and shook his head.

"No, don't, that isn't what he would have wanted," he said.

"Are you going to try and stop me?" she asked, eyes snapping towards him.

Looking between his best friends, Jowan grit his teeth together and yelled in anguish.

 _(Fate/Stay Night UBW OST-Ocean of Memories)_

"Kaaras, are you going to stop me?" Neria demanded.

He hesitantly looked away. Neria smiled down at Daylen, kissing his forehead. Then, he teeth snapped over her wrist, gripping it tightly. Eventually they tore through the skin. The tears of her sorrow were replaced with tears of pain as she bit until she bled. She bit into her tongue, feeling the blood flow out of her mouth.

'Everything I was,' she thought.

The memories of a happy life with her father and mother flashed before her. Her father whom gave her piggy back rides, her mother whom worked so hard for her, but always tried to smile.

'Everything I am!'

She smiled at the joy that had been her life at the tower. Knowing Jowan and Daylen, laughing with them day after day had been enough.

'Everything I could have been.'

A final image, of herself outside the tower, people she could have known. A red haired woman of faith, a witch of the wilds, a drunken dwarf, a charming elf, a gentle giant. It brought a tear to her eye, but then she saw in her place, him.

'I offer it all to him!'

The blood gushed onto his wound, and began to burn. A blue spark shined in front of Jowan and Kaaras. They watched in a mix of awe and horror as Neria brought Daylen's mouth up to hers, kissing him, creating the same glow of blue she had put on his chest. She began to feel so cold, her grip on Daylen lost his strength. She felt herself collapse, something else catching her. Her head rested against something and she smiled. She could hear it, a strong heart beat. The last thing she saw, to her joy, was red eyes looking back down at her.

'Daylen, you can fulfil your dream, I fulfilled mine, I saved someone!'

Next Chapter 15: The Legend of the Warrior

* * *

Another character death, which I kind of didn't enjoy. But it is for a reason, when composing Surana's back story I grew a bit attached. But I still stuck with what I originally planned, which I hope is a good thing as a writer.

Hope you guys at least enjoyed the chapter, next time another legend in Westeros is made, and the results of Surana's sacrifice are revealed


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer: I don't own a song of fire and ice or Dragon Age

* * *

House Amell of Westeros

Chapter 15: The legend of the Warrior

Fausten adjusted his scarf, checked the state of his sleeves and coat of arms. When he was satisfied with his personal appearance, he stepped out to greet the approaching guests. He bowed to the king, doing his best to hide the fact that Robert had gained a significant amount of weight.

'That's putting it mildly,' he thought.

"Fausten you little bastard, look what you've done with this place, magnificent," Robert complimented him, laughing hoarsely as he slapped his back.

"Lord Fausten," Cersei bowed.

Still beautiful, but somewhat ugly in her own way. Her brow had a nearly permanent frown to it. It wasn't unnoticed by Revka, only ignored.

"My queen," the Amell heiress curtsied, before the two women took each other's hands.

Both kissed one another's right hands, before kissing each other's cheeks and hugging like they were sisters. Revka was to Cersei, what Ned Stark was to Robert, a rare thing for the now jaded queen to have. It always put a smile on Jamie's face seeing them together. He knew very few things made his sister happy. Robert looked over the other Amell children, reduced to Dayla (looking bored in her dress), Dayk and Aristanna.

"Two great beauties, it must be an Amell trait," Cersei said, smiling at Revka.

"The true beauty of Aristanna your grace, is in her music," she said.

"Then you must play for us later on."

"Yes your grace," Aristanna bowed her head.

"You look like you're getting strong boy, sword or spear?" Robert asked.

"Why must I stop at one your grace," Dayk's grin matched Robert's.

Fausten smiled as his family walked with the royals. The Meadow had indeed come far, and Fausten felt it was ready to host a festival in celebration. Not only would it allow Fausten to show other lords how great the Meadow had become, but the trade it would bring would benefit the business owners in the Meadow. The very concept of education itself was also a great personal reward for Fausten. Pilgrims of the seven and the chant, maestars from the tower and other scholars came to see the forest and the ruins. Though he never compromised the presence of his guard, people of different religions being able to see ruins, to share views on history and to accept certain truths, contributed to Fausten's dream of happiness and cooperation between all. A few minor lords of the Meadow were looking to marry their kin into more influential family's.

'Many doubted me because I called you friend Aerys, many more refused to even acknowledge we could do it after what happened to you Damion. But at this moment, I can see that they were wrong, we can do this,' Fausten raised his head high.

It felt as if he was feeling hope for the first time again.

* * *

It was as if he had felt hopelessness for the first time. In the face of that man with absolute hatred in his eyes, Daylen felt hopeless. He could see it on Leo's face, not only the desire to kill, but the need to. Not for any kind of hunger or instinct, but for pleasure. Leo wanted to kill him because he could, because it would make him smile. And kill him he did. Daylen felt the blade rip through his chest, through his very heart. He had well and truly died.

Which begged the question, where was he now?

He was surrounded by darkness. Was this nothingness death? he wondered. It felt as if he was sinking, being pulled downwards towards an abyss.

'Live,' he heard someone whisper from far away.

His feet made contact with something. For a moment it seemed as if he had fallen onto a puddle, but as he stumbled forward, he found his feet supported by something solid. There was a light in front of him. He only had to take a few steps towards it, but he couldn't help listening to the initial voice in his head. It was a warning not to go into the unknown. But looking at the darkness around him, weighing his lack of options, he thought 'where else can I go?' With that realisation his inner voice told him to leap. Taking a step forward, he was relieved to see that his foot actually made contact with something solid. With each step he took, more of a path began to reveal itself.

'Live,' he heard it again and kept moving forward.

He then saw it in the distance, a light of some kind. Breaking off into a run, he tried to cover the distance between them. He stumbled, seeing that he hadn't advanced at all. Sprinting as hard as he could, he yelled in frustration, the light seemed to drift further away from him. His mouth opened, but no sound came out.

'Live,' he just kept hearing that word, that familiar voice.

With all his strength he threw himself forward, reaching for the light. It turned into a type of gas, slipping through his fingers and floating away from him. The substance formed a human like shape, one that raised its hand and offered it to him.

'Do you want to live?' he heard the voice ask.

For what felt like the first time in hours, he stepped back in caution. Then he fell back, hitting water. He resurfaced, gasping for breath. But strangely, his feet had planted on sand and he could feel the wind on his face. He looked ahead and saw the slender silhouette of a woman. A silk gown covered most of her body, but he could see her red hair and pointy ears. She looked over her shoulder, meeting his eyes for a moment, before she began to walk into the ocean. She soon disappeared into the water, no bubbles coming up after her. He ran as fast as he could, wading through the water before he dived.

'Do you want to live?'

He fell flat into dirt, feeling the burning heat of flames around him. As he climbed to his feet, he saw the devastating effects of the flames. It burnt through wood, causing sections of the ceiling to collapse, melted iron, and triggered explosions. He coughed, gripping his nose and crouching as smoke obscured his vision. Moving through the smog, he caught sight of the woman again, opening her arms as she walked towards a room that was occupied solely by fire. He tried to scream out to her, but couldn't speak. Rising to his feet, he ran forward and jumped towards the flames.

'Do you want to live free?'

He landed in a roll, dirt coating his clothes. The echoes of screams and battles surrounded him, as blaring as the stomping of the charging men those screams belonged to. He rose, looking at the soldiers running through the muck, bashing into one another. Armour of steel, bronze and leather, weapons of wood, iron and stone. Banners of wolves, lions, stags and bears, serpents, dogs and hounds, demons and dragons. There was no distinction, they all just slaughtered one another. The blood splashed across his face as he watched one man gut another. A horse wined, guts dangling out of its belly as it fell on top of him. He tried to scream but couldn't, only the screams of battle were heard. With all his strength he pushed, slipping out from underneath the horse. He looked through a gap of men, seeing the red haired elf, walking towards the forest. After a single step forward, he felt more weights crash onto his shoulder. Bodies dropped on top of him, piling on him, burying him. Shocked faces made contact with his, angry faces, even faces that laughed as he struggled to slip through the mountain of the dead. In a burst of strength he pushed forward and emerged into the light.

'Do you want to live free and fulfil your dream?'

A leaf fell onto his hand and he looked up, seeing a multitude of trees. Trees that were dying as the snow fell. He felt the cold, hugging his arms as he walked forward. 'What is happening?' he asked himself. 'Why am I enduring this?' he wondered. 'What was the point?' questions like these filled his mind. Despite knowing nothing he struggled onwards, on a vague hope that he would find her and along with her the answers to his questions. He saw faces on the trees he passed and shook his head, they seemed like parodies of the walking trees he had heard existed in the Ferelden forests. A raven cawed and flew over his head, perching on one of the branches. It looked down at him, and he looked up at it. Upon first glance it seemed to be a simply curious creature. But when he truly focused on the bird, he saw it wasn't a raven, but a crow. Then he saw it, the third eye on the crow's forehead.

 **"YOU SHOULD NOT BE HERE!"**

The ground collapsed beneath him, like a hay ceiling. He fell, feeling his back click as he slammed against the ground. The ground felt hard, like the roots of a tree. When he tried to get up, he felt something trap his leg. His foot had been caught in the root of a tree. A root that suddenly shifted and slithered up his leg. Another trapped his left arm and he looked up, seeing the red haired girl. He reached up and tried to scream, before roots began to pull him under.

 _"I love you Fausten!"_

He gasped, finding himself in a warm place. A place of fine decorations and silks. Yet there was a strange whiff of shit in the air that he couldn't deny. These things however were cancelled out by the sight before him. A beautiful woman was embracing a dark haired man, scruffy in comparison to her, dressed in red and perhaps ten years her senior. Yet, she had her arms wrapped around his neck, and her lips pressed firmly against his. He saw this and knew, this woman loved this man with every fibre of her being. This man too was fighting the urge to embrace her, to throw her onto the bed and make love to her. But he gripped her shoulders firmly, and pulled her away.

"We cannot," he told her.

She put a hand to her chest, hurt and embarrassed. Yet still she clung onto the hope, taking hold of his hand.

"Fausten please," she said.

He was that man, that man who told him about the dragon prince. The dragon prince he considered a brother. But not the dragon princess.

"Rhaella, your brother...your husband, no matter the love I bear for him, he would never forgive me, nor would he forgive you," he explained.

She truly was beautiful, and he could see the pain in that man's eyes. And the sorrow in hers, why would she marry her own brother if there was no love between them? Then he realised, she was a victim of the cruel desires of those in power. Those whom forced their will on their children.

 **"MUCH LIKE HE DID WITH YOU!"**

He felt the ground shake for a moment. But it only seemed to affect him, whatever happened here happened a long time ago. The princess cupped her warrior's cheeks and tried to kiss him again.

"It would be treason, they would kill you and I would never forgive myself," he said.

"If I don't kiss you now, I might as well be dead," she whispered.

 **"THE INK IS DRY! YOU SHOULD NOT BE HERE!"**

He felt something pull at him. Defiantly he pulled back, stumbling and knocking into that man. The warrior clumsily grabbed the princess's shoulder's for support, his blue eyes meeting her purple. Suddenly, he kissed her, and she happily gripped the back of his head. The three eyed crow watched as the princess and her warrior began to strip one another and fell onto the bed.

 **"NO, NO! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE? YOU WHOM DEFY FATE!"**

He ran into that very same bedroom, and saw both the princess and the prince. No, the queen and the king. Only there was no joy in her eyes this time, only tears. The dragon king had his back to her, his head low.

"Curse you, gods curse you Aerys, I married you on father's wishes, gave you Rhaegar, why? WHY COULD YOU NOT GIVE ME THIS!" she screamed.

"It was not me, it was the gods sweet sister, had he lived though I would have sent him away, a royal bastard is still a bastard," the king said bitterly.

"He was his son," Rhaella said.

"No, that is not right, you cannot have it like that Rhaella, he saw it too. He was the brother I always wish I had, nothing more. It was just one moment of weakness Rhaella, one moment of weakness, because you pushed onwards my wife, you pushed him and that was what sent him away. Damn you woman, you deprived me of my only friend!"

"I loved him!"

"NO YOU DIDN'T!" the king snapped, raising his hand to her.

He wanted to yell out at the man 'she's your sister, don't' but not words came. Daylen grabbed the king's hand and pulled it up, before he passed through him. The white haired man looked at his hand in shock, as if he had awakened from some trance. He fell onto a nearby chair and yelled in anguish.

"I never wanted it either sister, if there was ever a man I would have wished you to be happy with, it would have been him. But the blood line must be pure, from now on my sweet wife, you will love only me, is that clear?" he asked, the fury of the dragon partially returning to him.

"Yes my king," she whispered.

 **"NO DESTINY CAN BE ALTERED! MUCH LIKE YOURS!"**

He was back in the darkness, feeling the roots continuing to constrict him. They wrapped around his waist, pulled his arm down and pulled him deeper into the abyss. He looked up, desperately searching for any sign of the red haired girl. Screaming, he tried to pull free from their grasp, only to feel his arm break.

'You have to want it, you have to want to live!' he heard her whisper and he screamed again.

* * *

The Meadow

The tourney would be the talk of the Meadow, and the royal court for years to come. Typically, nobles relished the opportunity to watch the king slayer or Barristen the bold joust. When Jamie lost to Jorah Mormont, it had not sullied the Lannister's reputation. It was also a moment that people remembered. None doubted that Jorah was a warrior of skill because of his victories at Pyke and against the king slayer. Knights flocked at tourneys to prove themselves. Archers knocked back arrows, riders pushed their horses harder than they did in training. Some considered the melee the best way to train for a real battle. An arena filled with enemies, a complete free for all that mimicked the chaos of battle. High born knights in their fancy armour were typically the first to hit the dirt. Hedge knights and mercenary participants were typically tougher and more willing to get dirty. But there was one warrior in the melee, whom stood out from the rest.

He was no huge giant, yet brought down most of the bigger men easily. The armour he wore was of the same design Fausten wore, from a far eastern land. Gold and silver, it still seemed to shine through the dirt that stained it. The warrior wielded a shield and cross spear, with such accuracy and speed that for a moment Fausten thought it was himself in his younger days. But there was no bloodshed, a torn shoulder here and there, but no death. Killing was easy and though it was frowned upon in a tournament, it wasn't something that never happened. This warrior though swung and thrust and kicked and shoved, barging into his opponents and even punching a few across the face. By the end of the round, the warrior stood alone, all of his opponents knocked out.

"Once again the Meadow proves it has some bloody good warriors," Robert laughed and stood up.

"Where are you going beloved?" Cersei asked, the final word forced out.

"The joust is next, I won't be watching," he said.

Cersei shook her head, if Arryn or Stannis were there they would be telling Robert to stop. Renly seemed happy to simply watch the knight of flowers, riding around on his prized horse and over priced armour, decorated with symbols of flowers. Loras stopped his riding as he saw Dayk emerging from one of the tents, dressing himself into armour. It was a set of silver grieves, skirt armour that included finely decorated silver and green plate, the silver forming flaming sword patterns typically associated with Thedas's templar organisation. A white cloth hung from the front of the skirt armour, the Amell symbol on it. He put on a pair of black gloves, his wrist already protected by silver gauntlets, the knuckle guards bearing symbolism associated with Kirkwall. On his right shoulder was a particular large round guard, the armour of which was green and silver, the silver forming a starburst pattern, the same pattern that was on his silver chest plate. The craft of the armour was incredible, and Loras and many other knights believed it was to symbolise Dayk's Thedas origins.

"Dayk, are you truly entering?" Loras asked, riding over to his friend.

"This is my chance to prove myself," was all Dayk said.

Loras lowered his head slightly. Not that many of the knights would be able to prove themselves. The king emerged, practically stuffed into his armour, his horse barely able to support his weight. There was an unwritten, but widely known law amongst the knights at the joust. Even Tourneys were not valid excuses to best a royal. To the realm, the royals were superior to everyone and everything and must never be shown up. That and there was also the possibility of hurting a royal. There wasn't a man in the tourney, or the seven kingdoms who would risk harming the king. Robert tipped his lance to the warrior of the meadow, who carried a silver lance and rode a fair haired horse. Cersei made the call for the round to begin, already knowing the outcome. Or at least believing she knew the outcome.

"He's going to lose," Revka predicted.

"He should lose, but he won't," Cersei corrected her.

"No your grace, watch," Revka urged, leaning forward on her chair.

She enjoyed the tourney, Cersei would never admit that she did too. The warrior clipped Robert on the shoulder first. And on the second go round seemed to mock the king, tapping his helmet. Robert was a far cry from the 'demon of the trident' many of the knights knew from the old days. On the final go round, the warrior knocked Robert off of his horse, and everything went silent. It was uncomfortable just how quiet everyone was. No one dared say a word as the King struggled to get off of the floor. The warrior walked over to the king, stopping as the Kingsguard blocked his way.

"YOU!" Robert yelled, helped onto his feet by Jamie and Barristan. "You dare strike at the king, you dare?" he asked, stumbling past his guards and looking down at the warrior.

He seethed, but slowly his mouth formed a smile and his throat strained as he began to laugh.

"You have the biggest balls in the kingdom," he said, hugging the warrior and raising his hand up.

Seeing that the king approved, the crowd cheered. For the rest of the joust, Robert sat in his armour and watched. He applauded as in the next round, Dayk beat a hedge knight in terms of points gathered. Loras won his round, Jamie defeated his opponent, and Barristan defeated his. These four and the warrior of the Meadow proved to be the most note worthy and most wagered on knights in the kingdom.

"A hundred dragons on the Amell boy," Baelish said.

"That is a lot to risk Lord Baelish, something tells me you'll regret it," Tyrion grinned.

He wagered on the warrior. Dayk slid the visor down on his helmet and narrowed his eyes at the warrior. Robert joyfully declared their battle begun and the two rode hard towards one another. Dayk put all of his anger into his lance, thrusting it forward. The warrior tilted his head and thrust his lance, striking Dayk's shield. Dayk's strike however only slid against the warrior's helmet. They rode around and then straight towards one another again. This time the crowd gasped and Revka stood up, the warrior's lance broke on contact with Dayk's chest, threatening to throw him off his horse.

'You can do this Dayk,' Loras hoped.

"He's already lost," Barristan said and Jamie nodded his head in agreement.

The Amell heir was angry and rode hard towards the warrior again. This time the warrior knocked Dayk from his horse, back first onto the mud. The warrior quickly jumped off of his horse and ran to Dayk, who coughed as he threw off his horse. He shoved aside the hand offered to him and pushed the warrior. Anger was in his eyes, and embarrassment as he walked away with all the eyes on him. In the next set of rounds Loras tried to 'avenge' Dayk. He fought patiently and with a little less anger than Dayk had. People often criticised or made fun of knights from Highever, but there were good fighters. Loras was confident his brother Garlan was a much better fighter than him, even though he wasn't as famous. He conceded though that this warrior of the meadow, was better than him. The knight of flowers lost, though he remained on his horse.

"Will you be siding with your warrior lord Tyrion?" Baelish asked the youngest Lannister.

"You know I never wager against my brother," Tyrion grinned.

He was right to, for as good as the warrior was, he lost to the king slayer. Barristan the Bold won the tourney and stood on a pedestal over the runner ups. Jamie and the warrior, both of whom like their senior knight waited to be given prizes. Fausten stepped towards them and presented each with what they had earned.

"Sir Barristan, you have served many kings and stood guard, so we present to you the first Heartwood shield made in the Meadow, one of hopefully many more," Fausten gave the kite shield to the night, wood but harder than iron.

Barristan admired the craftsmanship, it bore no markings but fit him just fine. It was light, and he knew he could depend upon it to do his duty. Fausten next stood up to Jamie and to Revka's surprise, presented him with a gold and silver sword.

"Sir Jamie, I feel it fitting to give you this, we named it after the blade of one of the legendary knights, Arondight!"

Jamie was awestruck, and filled with a tremendous amount of pride. Though it also brought up his shame, only for a few moments. He who wielded Arondight, had been declared the truest of knights. Though many had forgotten those old stories, Jamie's mother hadn't. He stared at the blade he felt unworthy of as Fausten walked up to the warrior, patting his shoulder.

"You are ready for it," he said, giving the warrior his spear, the spear that Damion used before his death.

The warrior grabbed his helmet and pulled it from his face. The crowd gasped, no man would risk harming the king indeed. Robert however laughed, seeing the strength in the eyes of Dayla Amell.

"So that's where you were," Revka muttered.

"Your daughter is either very brave or very foolish," Cersei said.

"Being quite foolish your grace is a requirement for bravery," Revka smiled.

Cersei shook her head, though she was unable to resist her own urge to smile. It had been good seeing her husband in the dirt. Not all however reacted as they did. Knights felt insulted that a woman had bested them. In particular Dayk, who saw Dayla hold up grandfather's spear proudly. He punched one of the supports for his tent and walked away from the tourney.

* * *

It was looking at him, that three eyed crow. Daylen wondered if he was looking at a reflection, seeing himself as some old man, stuck in a tree.

 **"This is not your fate,"** the old man said, in the same voice as the crow.

Daylen couldn't speak, he was in so much pain too but he couldn't scream. His eyes darted and analysed his surroundings. There were children here in this forest, or at least they seemed like it, their clothes made of leaves and skin green. He tried to move his other hand but only managed a few inches.

 **"Why do you continue to resist?"** the old man asked him.

Daylen moved his head in frustration, nearly breaking out of the roots before he was pulled back in.

'You have to want to live,' he heard that voice again.

 **"Is it because you think you are destined for something?"**

He wanted to say no, that he didn't care about those sort of things.

 **"There are so many others better suited, elves, dwarves, human nobility, you are nothing, you are an accident with no story to tell."**

He wanted to ask just what the fuck he was on about? Rage was helping him through the pain and he could even hear his heart beat now, pumping harder and faster.

 **"Oh, it is because you believe that someone is waiting for you?"**

 _(Aimer-Last Stardust)_

Suddenly he was out of the roots, collapsed on the stone ground of some kind of city. A city in flames. He recognised this city, its banners, the stone eagles that decorated the rooftops. It was home for him once, the city of chains. Then he heard it, crying, desperate cries, the cries of a baby. He walked through the streets, covering his mouth as he walked through smoke. Daylen came to a halt at a pile of rubble. Inside the rubble he could see the wriggling form of a baby.

 **"You see,"** he felt a hand touch his shoulder and force him to his knees. **"You aren't special, you aren't even a true Amell. You're an unwanted child who was destined to die in those flames. Just as you're destined to die now. It has been written boy and the ink has dried, it is your fate!"**

The roots enveloped him again and began to pull him down. A tear fell down his face as he resolved himself to the truth.

'Live!'

'Do you want to live?'

'Live!'

'Do you want to live free?'

'Live!'

'Do you want to live free and fulfil your dream?'

'Live!'

'You have to want it, you have to want to live!'

He slowly opened his eyes, seeing through the roots the rubble. Though they tried to cover his eyes he resisted, just long enough to see her. Revka Amell.

"Live please live," she said.

She pulled one bit of stone away after another, desperately trying to reach the babe inside.

"Please live, live, let him live maker please," she whispered.

She reached into the rubble and pulled out the bundle. Tears of pure joy flowed from her eyes as she rubbed the baby's face against hers.

"Thank you, thank you for living, you're safe, I'm going to look after you," she said.

'You have to want to live,' he heard the voice again.

Through great struggle he looked up and saw Surana.

"Daylen, you have to want to live," she said, before she disappeared.

"Neria, mother," he whispered.

He grit his teeth together, body trembling as he tried to move.

 _"I'm sorry sir, I couldn't sleep, and I like looking up at the stars,"_

 _"Truly? I do too my child," "Losing myself in the stars, in their mystery and promise, it helps me to experience a simpler time, a brighter time."_

 _"When I look at you, at your mother and uncle, that too reminds me of a brighter time,"_

 _"Sir, your adventures, why did they stop?"_

 _"Because eventually my duties as a family head called me back, and I got old, my dreams couldn't be fulfilled anymore,"_

 _"Your dreams?"_

 _"To be a hero, but as I got older I realised that...I could not save everyone," "To save one, also means to sacrifice another, and I could not keep doing that, because I lost hope that I could save everyone."_

 _"Then I'll do it for you,"_

 _"I'm still young, and I'll be young for a long time, which means I'll still have dreams. So I'll become a hero, the hero you wanted to be!"_

 _(Boku No Hero Academia OST-Worthy Rival, written and read as friend)_

He began to snarl, eyes glowing as steam rose from his body. The three eyed crow narrowed his eyes as steam also rose from the roots. He began to feel the temperature in the room increase.

 **"No, I brought your spirit here, but for your will to conjure a spell, to create a construct to bring that spell into being is impossible. No one possesses that much will power, let alone a dying mage child,"** he explained, fear rising within him for the first time in ages.

"You bastard," Daylen growled.

Dark hands, surrounded by flames burst out of the roots. Daylen's manifestation began to break out of his bindings, flames beginning to spread through the roots that tried to crush his spirit.

 **"To do that, to conjure something nations away, through the wall...just where do you really originate from?"**

"You bastard," the shadow raised his head, Daylen's red eyes glowing through it. "Like I would let you," he seethed, the children beginning to run as the flames began to fill the chamber.

The three eyed crow's eyes turned white and nations away, Daylen's body convulsed, his eyes also white.

"Like I would let you waste," the shadow broke through the roots and broke off into a run.

"Mother's efforts," he jumped, raising his fist.

"And Neria's SACRIFICE!" Daylen roared, his eyes changing back to their red colour as he awoke.

The three eyed crow was thrown back into his body and watched in horror as the shadow jumped towards him.

'No, no, no, no, no, this isn't how it should be, this wasn't supposed to happen,' he thought.

He saw the children of Stark, their destinies altered. He saw the red eyed man, dressed in silver armour and facing a purple dragon. The three eyed crow snapped back to reality, just as the shadow, Daylen's manifested rage and will, punched him so hard that he was thrown out of the tree. The manifestation faded, just as the tree that was once the three eyed crow's being burned. His frail and physical body twitched on the floor, neck broken from the force of the monster's punch.

'I can no longer see, the future is unwritten now, I forgot how good it felt not to know,' he thought.

One final vision was given to him, and it made him smile. The red eyed man shaking the hand of a northern king, carrying a broken boy on his back, and finally standing in the snow, back to back with a white wolf. Brynden Rivers let out one final laugh, before meeting the stranger.

Next chapter 16: The lion and the shame

* * *

Well vampwalker709, you wanted a bad ass Daylen moment, hope this didn't disappoint, not to say this'll be the only moment :)

Hope everyone enjoyed the chapter and the shocking change to the lore. The future could be dark or bright, one thing to say is that don't expect Brandon Stark's story to go how it did in the books or show.


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Age of A song of ice and fire

M:warning this chapter

* * *

House Amell of Westeros

Chapter 16: The lion and the shame

Revka didn't want her children to drink, that didn't stop Dayk from doing it. When the night came, the Meadow launched a celebration over the success of the Tourney. A banquet was held in the castle whilst the commoners partied outside of it. The round table was cast aside in favour of the usual Westerosi banquet arrangement, as always Robert was to sit at the front. But the king preferred revelling with the women of the Meadow. Fortunately many of them were spoken for, a ruse conducted by Revka to keep Robert's antics to a minimum.

"Thank you," Cersei whispered to her.

"There are many fine beauties in the Meadow, it is only natural they would already be courted," Revka said.

"There are two though," Cersei looked to the table Aristanna and Dayla sat at. "I fear however that your daughter's actions have made it very difficult for her to find a husband, men do not like women who can best them."

"I think that was Dayla's plan all along," Revka laughed, pouring Cersei and herself more wine.

"Delicious," Cersei gushed, sipping more of it.

"An Antivan import, father knows a family whom specialise in trade and shipping," Revka said.

Dayk scoffed, looking at the interactions between his family and the royals. Aristanna and Dayla laughed with Myrcella and little Tommen. Grandfather joined Robert in a drink, the two men's arms over one another's shoulders as they raised their cups. Even the Amell guardians spoke well with sir Jamie and some of the other Lannister and Baratheon men. Dayk raised the cup he was drinking from and tilted some of the contents down his throat.

'Disgusting,' he thought but not in reference to the mead.

He saw how Loras Tyrell looked at him. On the occasion he also saw how Renly would glance in his direction. The way they looked at him, and at one another disgusted him. He was disgusted by the very idea of those two desiring him and one another. It wasn't that he was a holy person, he didn't actually believe in god or any divine prophecy or wrath. What he believed in was the natural order, the law of that order. Men inherited titles, Revion was no good to the throne of the Meadow, Dayla was a woman and Daylen was not an Amell.

'He can't be an Amell, if he is, then what do I have?' Dayk wondered.

If Fausten had his way, the foreign Qunari (or whatever his gene pool included) brat would be the heir. But no, the natural order dictated that Dayk would be the heir and yet he was not afforded any of the luxuries an heir would have. His training was pitiful, education mediocre and his actions were never praised. Dayla was a woman, she shouldn't have been fighting at the tourney, she shouldn't have struck the king and yet she got away with such things. If not for her, he would have advanced to the finals. He would have at least have proven himself worthy of grandfather's spear.

"Dayk my friend, you fought well today," Loras complimented him.

Dayk put on a smile, but inside his skin was crawling as he shook Loras's hand.

"Thank you, you were incredible on the field," though his demeanour was a lie, he didn't lie about Loras's ability in battle.

Though he was disgusted by both Loras and Renly, he wasn't so quick to dismiss their abilities. Renly, though not the fighter Robert was, or the tactician Stannis was, possessed none of their faults and qualities they didn't have. He was a gentle man whom despised the culture of masculine honour and battle. But he had charisma, he knew how to win people to his side. Stannis led men but had none of the qualities to make them his friends. People would follow Renly because he befriended them, and outwardly showed his care. Loras was a gifted warrior and his skills would grow with time and experience. He was also a son of the Tyrell clan, whom ruled over the most fertile land in Westeros and had one of the biggest armies. He was also the brother of the most beautiful and brilliant woman Dayk had ever met.

"How has your sister been lately?" he asked Loras.

"She has become very involved with charity work with the commoners, I believe your brother passed through Highgarden recently," Loras said.

"Really, but I thought he was a ward of Stannis?"

"I heard he was a ward of Stark, your brother has garnered a reputation for suddenly disappearing, leaving thank you notes for all the lessons taught by lords," Loras explained.

"Mother thought he would be happy with the Starks, but he doesn't seem to be satisfied with one font of knowledge, what did he do in Highgarden?" Dayk asked.

"He helped build an orphanage, spoke with the farmers and spent many hours with my brother Willas, they became quite good friends," Loras explained.

"Friends, Revion doesn't have such things," Dayk huffed.

He walked away, leaving Loras confused and rejected. Dayk could allow himself to have allies, but not friends. Lovers too he could accept, but there was only one he would love. Her curling brown hair, large brown eyes, slender, womanly figure, that shy and sweet smile of hers. Girls in the Meadow only came fractionally close to the perfection that was Margaery Tyrell, the perfect mix of beauty and intellect. As the night went by and Dayk drank more, he noticed the ladies of the Meadow. Dayla chatted with Lunaya, the butcher's daughter, she had a mess of curly red hair and despite wearing dresses had the manner and demeanour of a man. Carla Sunflare was of a minor noble house, her hair was slightly darker than Margaery's, but she was a great beauty herself. Anna Darkwynd was another daughter of minor nobility, blonde haired and definitely beautiful. But none were right, none were what Dayk wanted.

"REVION!" Aristanna suddenly screamed.

The eyes of the banquet turned to the door, where a man pulled off the hood on his coat. Revion, the prodigal son. Aristanna ran into her cousin's arms, laughing as he spun her around. They kissed one another's cheeks, a far cry from the greeting the twins exchanged. Dayla punched her brother's arm, and he did the same to her, before they hugged.

"Where have you been?" she asked.

"To many places," was Revion's simple answer.

Dayk smiled at Revion and waved to him, but made no effort to join his sister and cousin in greeting him. Despite his low opinion of him though, Dayk did love his older brother. He walked over to the window as Revka and Fausten rushed over to Revion. The Amell head hugged his grandson tightly, looking at his face and roughing up his hair. Revka threw her arms around him, tears in her eyes.

"Why are you crying mother, I was always coming back," Revion said.

"You've been gone for so long, we always got conflicting reports, where were you?" Revka asked.

"I went to as many places as I could, to get as smart as I could, and as strong as I could, but it isn't enough I know that. I'm so proud of what you've all achieved here, sister, I knew you were strong as the greatest warriors in Westeros. Aristanna, could you play your flute for me later?" Revion asked, looking between his sister and cousin.

"REVION!" Robert bellowed out.

He grabbed him, picking him up off of the floor and swinging him around.

"Look at you, LOOK AT YOU!" he yelled. "I can feel those muscles of yours, I heard you've been to Dragonstone, the Reach, the Twins, every where you can go, gods I wish I could've seen Tywin's face when you turned up at his castle and spent only one day as his student!"

The king broke off into a drunken ramble. Despite how happy her husband was, Cersei didn't laugh over his mockery of her father. Tywin sent her a letter, telling about the Amell boy who turned up at Casterlyrock, asking Tywin to teach him. Her father obviously hoped to mould Revion, or perhaps pair him with one of her cousins. But Tywin never even gave him a lecture, they had one conversation (the details of which Tywin never spoke of) and the next day Revion disappeared with only a letter of thanks. Afterwards Tywin tried to spread the story, shaping it to portray Revion as a free loader. But whispers reached Varys of the wandering Amell, the prodigal son, a hooded man.

"Your grace, my queen," Revion put his hands together and bowed.

"Welcome home," Cersei curtsied before sitting back on her chair.

Revion looked towards Dayk, sitting by the window. He still had a full cup and was still drinking.

"You have grown strong as well," Revion said to him.

"How long will you stay?" Dayk asked, without looking back at him.

"I've come for the person I love, or rather the person I could love," Revion said.

"The person you could love? Who could that be?" Dayk was interested, but sceptical of his brother's declaration.

For him to claim a bride that he would love, was not in his character. It would simply make him possessive and hypocritical, like King Robert.

'He thinks he can marry the woman he loves, if so, what would stop me?' Dayk wondered.

Revion touched his shoulder, making him barge him aside.

"Can you believe it, that they gave the sword to that man?" he asked.

"Brother, Sir Jamie is worthy of it," Revion said.

"He is not, he broke his oaths," Dayk retorted.

"For the right reasons!"

"An oath is an oath because it cannot be broken, didn't the Starks teach you that?" Dayk asked.

"They did, as did Stannis, but I learnt that there are oaths worth following and those that aren't. No one should be judged before they are even known either, Dayk, spend some time amongst the people of the Meadow, or outside of it, you may find someone who captures your heart," Revion explained.

That night, Aristanna played a melody that pushed the great hall to tears. She was an incredible musician, her flute technique flawless and her song so beautiful that even Robert had tears in his eyes. He stopped groping the serving women, stopped drinking, stopped bellowing and just listened to her. Cersei nestled with her children and actually looked like a mother to them, and actually looked as if she knew peace. Fausten became so overcome by emotion that he left the hall, but like any good musician it didn't stop her from playing. One song broke off into another and the mood of the hall improved. People danced and were merry to a song made famous by a girl called 'Saria'.

"This is a song that Revion wanted me to play, it is titled 'Brother'," Aristanna took another deep breath and began to play the song Revion requested.

As the song rang through the halls, Dayk withdrew from the crowd. He focused on those whom dithered on the edge of matching Margaery's perfection. Lunaya and her red curls, whom slapped Dayk when he tried to kiss her neck. She suffered herself for it, her friends would remain quiet for the night.

 _He cradled her body in his arms, tears of blood flowing from his eyes._

Carla Sunflare seemed easier. Dayk realised that was unfair. She was beautiful, he couldn't deny it. They were somewhat alike at least, that Dayk learnt when they began speaking. Speaking about their families, the Sunflares and Amells. The Amells whom valued kindness and close bonds, no matter how far away their bastards were.

 _He raised his head and screamed, eyes completely red. He was in agony, yet she with her eyes closed, breathless, she was at peace._

The Sunflares, loyal retainers once of the family that formerly ruled over the Meadow, the Greenwards. She was arranged to marry a man she didn't want to, some fat bastard of the lord Frey. He made a joke about how many children Frey had and his virility, she had drunk enough to laugh about it. It wasn't funny, Dayk knew that, he understood that the Frey's were not a family to be trifled with. Sometimes it was the people you expected nothing from that were the most dangerous.

 _His friends tried to touch him, but he flinched, gripping her tighter, unable to cope with the knowledge that she was gone. He wanted to die again, he wanted to switch his life for hers._

Their conversation drew them further and further away from the party, to the rooms of the Amell household. He brought her to his grandfather's study, where he showed her the collection of books. She was a bookish girl, she adored the tales of the legendary knights and other stories of old. The hooded thief who robbed from the rich, the beauty waiting for her true love's kiss to awaken her, the dragon slayer whom became indestructible. He told her of a different kind of tale, of two lovers, forbidden but true. In the light of the fire, she kind of looked like Margaery to him.

 _Jowan's hand was on his shoulder. He brushed it off as he stood up, leaning against the wall for support._

She blushed heavily as he cupped her cheeks. Her lip trembled with every inch closer he took. She was young, younger than him. And obviously still innocent.

 _His pupils returned, but had narrowed into animal like slits. Slowly his hands squeezed into fists and shook._

"Wait, wait," she said.

Her hands were pushing against his chest. She couldn't say it herself but he knew, this was wrong. From a certain perspective, she was still a child. So was he really, but that was just a justification he was telling himself. He hesitated, and raised his head away from her. The musicians were playing something else now. It was a good tune. She smiled, it was one of her favourite songs. She moved to walk towards the door.

 _The magic welled up inside him, surging so powerfully that the mana in his veins glowed through his skin. Like a web of circuits they shined as he took a step forward._

Suddenly, he grabbed her hand and kissed her. She let out a muffled cry before he pushed his lips firmer against her, pressing his body against hers and trapping her between him and the wall. He could feel her hand shaking, feel her tongue motionless as he pushed his own tongue into her mouth. With every breath she took she was showing him how afraid she was. He gripped her breast and made her gasp in shock.

 _He lowered his head, gritting his teeth together. No, he should just leave it to the templars. It was their job to stop monsters, to slay demons. But a life had already been taken, a woman he could have loved._

Her eyes were confused, one part pleading for him to stop, another part actually enjoying it.

"Don't you want to be happy?" he asked her, squeezing her breast tighter. "Even for just one night," Dayk leant over her, pulling her head back by her hair and kissing her neck.

"My lord I, please, no," she whispered, gasping as he traced his mouth over her neck before kissing it again.

 _His body was moving on its own, taking step after step, his eyes set on the path ahead. He could hear it, the trail of destruction the monster was leaving. It would only be a matter of time before others as violent as him were inspired. If he wasn't stopped now he would push the templars to enact the right of annulment._

"Don't be afraid, you're so beautiful," he said to her, undoing the clasps of her dress.

She closed his eyes, losing herself in his touch. He traced his hands over her like an artist admiring a sculpture. Squeezing her cheeks, he drew her into a firm and passionate kiss. One she didn't resist this time, her tongue at least attempting to match his.

 _Step after step he took, dragging his arm against the wall, the magic across his skin gathering into his body. Gradually he brought his arm away from the wall._

He gently laid her on the bed, kissing her and touching her as he threw away his own clothes. She looked up at him, blushing and smiling as he kissed her body. He looked down at her, but didn't share her smile. She screamed, losing something that was important to nobles. Dayk didn't care, he carried on, furious despite her joy. This wasn't love, but it was as close to joy as he could get.

 _He looked at the arm, at the open palm. Then, eyes set in determination, he made his vow. His hand closed into a fist, and he ran forward._

When he was finished with her, he sat on the edge of the bed, letting her lay there with a blanket draped over her naked form. Dayk smirked as the door opened and Fausten came into the room. He wasn't alone, Revka was with her.

"What are you doing Dayk?" Revka demanded.

"You hit Lunaya," Fausten said, looking at Dayk with a firm expression.

"Leave me alone," Dayk huffed as he put his shirt on.

Carla awoke, looking up and gasping in shock.

"Lord and Lady Amell, I'm sorry, oh by the gods, I'm so sorry," she said.

"She has been promised to one of Lord Frey's sons," Fausten said.

"You damned hypocrite, wasn't it you who said no one's fate should be decided for them, she doesn't have to marry one of those bastards if she doesn't want to," Dayk said.

"Do you understand that there are going to be consequences of this Dayk? I expected better from you!"

Upon hearing his mother's words, something in Dayk's eyes snapped and he looked towards her.

"You expect something of me? What in the world would you expect of me? To remain quiet, to be mediocre, to not know happiness. You care more for the constantly moving Revion or the far off Daylen more than me! YOU'RE WORSE WITH THAT MAGE BASTARD! I WISH HE WAS DEAD!"

Much to Carla's shook, Fausten punched Dayk across the face. Revka stood there, as if she found it some acceptable punishment. Dayk kept his hand on his cheek, his shocked expression twisting into a smile.

"I'm glad I sent him that letter, I hope he does write back, and I hope you listen to him," he said, before he walked away.

Revka shook her head, both in disappointment of her son, and herself.

'You fool Revka, you've failed him haven't you?' she was uncertain.

Yet still, she placed the blame at her own feet and took responsibility. It would not be the last time.

* * *

"When will I wed the prince?" she had asked.

She had been given an answer that she did not like. Cersei remembered those days. How she and Melara asked the witch those questions, questions that only now Cersei realised she was better off not knowing. Blood was not the cost for her, only the ingredient. The cost for her was something far greater, something she grieved for, despite knowing it was not truly gone.

'No, not it,' Cersei thought, rolling over in bed, to a spot unoccupied by her husband. 'Him, my prince!'

That woman took him, fed him, clothed him, and told him what he was.

"Fate or chance," she said to him.

His destiny would not be determined by fate, and he would leave nothing to chance. Everything had a risk to it, and the witch's teachings were good theory for when his magic awakened. He let the templars take him so that he could learn from the circle. Day after day he would endure lesson after lesson, lecture on the use of power and the chantry propaganda. Worst of all, having to put up with that red eyed man. His eyes, they annoyed him, not the mere colour of them, but that pathetic look he often had as if he was carrying some great burden.

'What does he know of burdens and responsibility? He is nothing, yet I am so much more than any of these fools of the tower,' he thought often, and proudly.

Then came the day, the day he was to be tested, the day he would change his fate. To the top of the tower he was taken, to the chamber with templars at every exit, to the room with a podium in the centre of it. A podium that held a piece of lyrium.

"The first part of the ritual will involve you being able to project your consciousness into the fade, the second, and here boy is the most important part, is to pass the trial that the fade forges for you," the self righteous First-Enchanter explained to him.

"If you fail in this task, we templars will do our duty, we will kill you," the Knight-commander said.

"I understand completely," he said, bowing his head in respect.

But it was only a mock respect. He touched the lyrium, lost himself in the light and projected his will and soul into the fade. The trial itself was called the Harrowing, but it was more to him. It was not a trial for the circle, it was not a test of whether he could be a mage. But the test that all men like him must face, to look into the abyss, to bathe in darkness and come out unscathed. His teacher had taught him many things related to the world, and surprisingly about court as well. These lessons it seemed had shaped his perception of the fade.

"The halls are beautiful, the people pampered and jewelled, but do not be deceived, many of them are as black hearted and savage as the creatures of the wilds. If not more so, animals kill for their survival, those whom kill in the royal courts justify it as such, or call it a game, a game to claim more power."

Perhaps it was poetic in a way, that he would see halls and castles of blood and darkness. His ideal vision of what awaited him in a land far, far away. Traversing these great halls, he searched for what was his test. He came to a stop at the kitchen, where spirits played at being servants. Spirits, demons, they were all fonts of power. Sentient fonts of power, but still they could offer power. A mouse crawled across the floor, and he noted how the creature looked at him for a moment. He could have sworn he heard laughter in his ears. Shaking the feeling off, he continued, going through a pair of double doors. As soon as he opened them, he stepped into a grand hall, where spirits formed the mocking forms of nobleman, bowing and twirling moustaches as they schemed. He looked at the end of the hall, and saw a grand throne. It was just as the witch told him, made from swords.

 _The dream always took him back to the field of swords. He now shifted between the fade and the tower, like a ghost he had become on one, whilst on the other, he had become made of swords._

"What is it you desire?" he heard something ask behind him.

It was the voice of the creature, but when he turned, he saw that it was a woman. A blonde haired woman with a face similar to his. She was in a red dress, her jewels adorned with the decoration of a lion.

"Power? Fame? Riches?"

"Or is it more personal?" another voice asked.

Again he turned, seeing the same woman, her hair had less care, her clothes were simple cloth rags and she wore no jewels or rings. She had instead three children, all huddled closely with her.

"Home? Family? Love?"

"What is it you desire?" they asked together.

"Sex?" a naked, red haired beauty suddenly appeared before him, caressing his chest.

"Status?" a Maestar presented to him a crown.

"Glory?" a knight drew his sword and bowed.

"What is it you desire?" the spirits asked him.

From home, family and love, he saw wisps of gentle light. From power, fame and riches, he saw mere ghost like wraiths. A ghost of valour replaced the knight, a sloth demon the Maestar and a desire demon kissed at his cheek instead of the girl touched by fire. He looked at the throne and yelled, pushing them all away. Desperately he ran, reaching for the throne.

 _He breathed heavy breaths, the magic surging through him. Again he was in the fade, atop a hill of swords. He ignored the spirits and looked up at the sky, determination crossing his face._

The throne disappeared and he found himself on a field. He looked up at the hill and saw him. That red eyed boy, that favoured boy, that boy who really pissed him off. Driven by ridiculous desires of self sacrifice, of placing more value on the lives of others, and none on his own. Consumed by the need, to be a hero.

"What drivel," Leo said.

"Hatred, is a powerful tool!"

He felt it, the breath on his hair, the low hum of a lion's growl. Slowly and cautiously he turned, and looked upon a gigantic lion. Twice the size of what the animal should be. Only the creature was much more terrifying than a simple lion. The body and head was that of a lion, but on its back was an additional head, the head of a stag, the lion's mane also glowed with fire, and at the tip of the tail was the head of a dragon. This twisted alternative of a chimera (he thought it a good name to use), was both the secret of his heritage and his desired future rolled into one.

"Is it true hatred, or simple jealousy I wonder," Chimera said.

Leo looked up at the creature, his eyes set in defiant rage. Then he began to laugh, a sound that echoed through the hill of blades.

"Hatred, that is what has driven me, hatred of those who should have loved me more than anything. Hatred of those who should have bowed before me. Hatred of those who will not bow before me, people like him, I see it in his eyes. He would deny me, deny what I am even if the proof was right in front of him. I bear the gift of magic, the potential for power beyond even the finest of Tevinter magisters. I was chosen by one of the most powerful beings in the world, it is my destiny to surpass her. What do I desire you all asked me?

"Everything, everything you could possibly think of. Fame, power and riches, sex, status and glory, I demand all of the love and all of the homes, for it is the right of the mighty and the right of those whose will surpasses all others. And I will carve my way to that future through a field, no, a nation of blood if I have to. And at the end I will hold in my hand everything that man refuses to place value in, and I will show him that only those whom have everything can claim to be complete.

"I will not stop with a throne of blades, I will not stop with lions or stags or dragons, or wolves or eagles, I will claim all under my boot. Seven kingdoms Aegon, I spit on that dream. Only those who are unwilling to stop can be called conquerors, and I will not stop until everything is mine, once I have taken it through fire and blood will my rage be sated and my dream realised. I will be satisfied when the entire world HAS HEARD ME ROAR!"

The Chimera looked at Leo in shock for a moment, before all three of its faces grinned and they laughed.

"Very well, you have proven to me that your rage surpasses all others. Truly you are the only mage in a long time, who is worthy of showing me the world," the Chimera said.

"Yes, I accept, give me what I need, what I DESERVE!" Leo yelled.

The Chimera pounced, agony turned into ecstasy, a power unlike anything Leo had ever felt before. He had been transformed and reborn, infused with the rage demons power. He and Chimera were one now, and unleashed their wrath upon the tower. A few minutes had gone by, and Leo already had the pleasure of killing that red eyed bastard, and wounding many other templars. He had become the knight of fire and blood he had dreamed of, his helmet decorated with the mane of fire and horns that had been on the Chimera. He swung his sword, shattering the blades of the rookies that tried to attack him. A few of the more experienced templars tried to use their smites on him, but with his blood he conjured the maw of a dragon and smashed them against one of the walls.

 **"Pathetic mongrels, HA! I've done all this damage, just think of what we mages could do if we all decided to rebel!"** he laughed, helmet retracting to reveal his red and black eyes and fanged teeth.

"Die ABOMINATION!" one of the templars yelled, raising his sword and attempting to slash Leo.

Leo however grabbed him by his neck and threw him against the wall. Rubble rained down on the templars, knocking out some, trapping others. One tried to move the rocks off of his leg, looking towards Leo as he grinned.

 **"You people dared to imprison those with more power than you, I WILL SHOW YOU THE FOLEY OF YOUR ACTIONS!"**

He pulled his head back, and when it breathed out, a great torrent of flame flew towards the templars. It swept over them and Leo heard them scream. They didn't scream as much as he thought they would though. Leo stopped breathing out fire and watched as the flames cleared.

 **"Impossible,"** he whispered.

 _(Dragon Age Origins OST-Main Theme)_

The flames shrunk, gathering into the hand of a man who should have been dead. Yet there he stood, in a pair of ripped trousers. His right arm had been extended, burnt from his shoulder to the finger tips. The side of his face had even been burnt, half of his right cheek, his ear and neck. Yet still he stood, eyes glowing red, forming a fist over the now tiny flame on his palm. The bangs of his much wilder hair hang over the eyes that Leo so despised. Eyes of firm defiance and unwavering determination aimed at him.

 **"I am truly blessed to be able to kill you again!"** Leo snarled.

He let out another breath of fire, only this time sparks of electricity surged out of Daylen's fingertips. The electricity snuffed out the flames, the intensity of the sparks fading as Daylen took a step forward. Leo raised both his hands up and brought them downwards, using the fade to shift the gravity, a technique force mages foolishly called 'fist of the maker'. His fist however would crush his foes utterly. Daylen however raised his burnt hand, it shook from the impact and released a blink of light. The force wavered and faded, and the fury within Leo intensified. Still Daylen stood, and still he looked at him.

"No more," he said.

Next Chapter 17: The Strength of the Amells

* * *

Hope everyone enjoyed the chapter, based some of the women of the Meadow on actresses, Carla Sunflare (Grace-Hogg Robinson) Anna Darkwynd (Georgina Haig) Lunaya (Amy Manson).

Also thought of a voice for the Chimera (Keith David) and Leo (David Vincent).

Never really brought it up before, but whenever Daylen speaks I imagine Ben Pronsky or Mark Hildreth (with this one leading to some funny party Banter situations)

Zevran: You know Day, I think perhaps you are part Qunari, you and Sten sound eerily similar

Daylen: We don't sound anything alike

Sten: Agreed

Zevran: Don't you think you sound even a little bit alike?

Sten and Daylen: No!


	17. Chapter 17

Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Age or A song of ice and fire

* * *

House Amell of Westeros

Chapter 17: Strength of the Amells

 _(Fate-Unlimited Blade Works OST-Overcome the Myth)_

Fire, ice, lightning, Earth, all flew and rose from one part of the room to the next. Rubble came down, but was deflected by sparks of electricity, ice and fire consumed one another, and faded into steam. The lion gritted his teeth together and threw his hand forward. The force wave should have crushed his opponent, but Daylen stood firm and held out his left hand. A crack echoed through the room, and Daylen let out a yell. His arm went limp and he directed his gaze at Leo. Behind him the templars sat, helpless, some trapped, others unconscious. Leo smirked, knowing that Daylen placed more value on their lives than he did his own. He licked his lips together and drew fire into his hands. But in a burst of light, Daylen was propelled forward. Rock armour formed on his left arm, forcing the dislocated elbow into place. Then he brought his arm down on Leo, just as he summoned his helmet. Adding a force wave of his own, Daylen pushed Leo across the room. He slammed into one of the pillars, gritting his teeth together as his helmet cracked. Daylen swept his hands over the region the templars were trapped in, covering it with ice.

 **"You're seriously trying to protect them, you well meaning idiot, with your mana drained I'll kill you, then I'll kill them, and everyone who tries to stop me. The Knight-Commander, Irving, Niall, Jowan, that bitch Wynn, every...fucking...person...you VALUE!"** Leo ranted and roared.

Daylen was gone, hiding between pillars, buying time to regain his mana, buying time for Irving and Greigor to get there. A lot of rubble and injured had been left in Leo's wake, they had that to deal with. Daylen picked up a templars shield from the ground and took a torch off of one of the walls. He hugged the pillar with his back, peaking out to see Leo walking around the pillars, searching for him. The shield was designed to be resistant to magic, so he couldn't enchant it. But the torch, he concentrated, applying the miniscule amounts of mana he had and enhancing the structure.

 **"FOUND YOU!"** Leo yelled, suddenly behind the pillar.

He tried to grab Daylen, who threw himself back. Daylen raised the shield, blocking the flames that Leo released from his hand. Then he swung the torch with everything he had, smashing Leo across his face so hard that the torch broke apart, and the flames covered the left part of Leo's face. He screamed in agony, writhing and cursing as Daylen found another hiding place.

 **"I burnt your right, so you burn my left huh? You're mistaken, a lion owes nothing to its prey. YOU HEAR THAT DAYLEN?! YOU'RE JUST FOOD TO ME!"**

His helmet opened, becoming the maw of a lion and roaring.

 _(End OST)_

* * *

After a difficult night, the Meadow was illuminated by the rising sun. People shrugged off their hangovers and went back to work. Farmers worked the fields, hunters began looking for game, and the keepers opened their shops. Tyrion marched from his guest quarters, to the main hall, where his family waited, already being served their breakfast.

"The Meadow seems to agree with you both," he said, sitting down, rubbing Tommen's hair.

"It has its flaws, but its qualities as well, the same as the capital really," Cersei said.

"Though not all is well it seems," Jamie smirked.

"Yes I heard of the unfortunate trouble Dayk caused, the Freys will not be happy," Tyrion said.

"The girl was stupid enough to fall for his charms, and the boy rebellious enough not to care. I thought him responsible like his brother, enough to have Robert pair him with Myrcella, now however..."

"Wait sister, you would have trusted your children to another?" Tyrion asked.

"No aren't you listening? That boy proved his quality last night, I will not see Myrcella alone with him or have any of my children play with him, there is something in that boy's eyes."

Both Tyrion and Jamie saw their sister's eyes linger towards Joffrey, too engrossed in the deliciousness of his breakfast to care. Revka emerged from one of the doorways, bowing to the royal family.

"Your grace, Sir Jamie, Lord Tyrion, would you like to join me outside. If you'd like Sister Bella can look after the children for a while."

Bella stepped around Revka and bowed.

"I assure you the children will be safe with me," she said.

"Very well, come brothers, children listen to Sister Bella and remember your lessons of etiquette," Cersei said.

The Lannister siblings followed Revka as Bella stepped up towards the children.

"My Princes, princess, my classes have been suspended for today, but I will be happy to escort you all to the gardens," Bella said.

"What do you teach?" Myrcella asked.

"I teach many of the children of the Meadow how to read, I also teach them mathematics, history of both Thedas and Westeros as well as law and stories," Bella explained.

"What stories do you know?" Tommen asked.

Joffrey followed behind his siblings, showing no real interest in the foreign priestess.

"The tale of Aveline, Garahel's last flight, the dragon slayer, the war for the maiden, the punishment of the hunter, do you like stories?" she asked the prince and princess.

"I love stories," Myrcella said.

"Can you tell us one about griffins?" Tommen asked, and Bella laughed in joy.

As her friend guided the three children outside, Revka sat with the Lannister siblings in the garden. She poured into cups tea, a brew from the leaves that grew in the Meadow. Adding honey to the blend, she gave the first try to Cersei, who, to the surprise of her siblings closed her eyes and gushed.

"A sweeter and more relaxing taste than wine," she said.

"More appropriate for the morning at least," Revka said.

"Truly the Meadow has been blessed with a glorious summer, and great pioneers from Thedas," Tyrion said.

"Actually Lord Tyrion, the recipe was composed by a commoner, here we do not allow titles to paint our view of talent. My brat of a boy is fighting off a hangover, rest assured he will be doing what is expected of him, in the mean time I apologise for his actions last night and if they at all sullied the time you all had," Revka explained.

"I think it rather livened the evening up," Tyrion said.

Jamie smirked as Cersei glared at their younger brother.

"The boy was being a boy, defiant and selfish, you must remind him of his duty as an heir to the Amell family and the Meadow," Cersei said.

"Oh rest assured I'll be reminding him," Revka nodded. "I also wish to apologise for any offence Revion may have caused your father."

Tyrion rolled his eyes as he got off of his chair.

"There are some Lannisters eager to be offended my lady, thank you for the wonderful tea, if you excuse me, I'll be looking for Revion, ever since I learnt of what he did at Castelyrock...I've been wanting to shake his hand," Tyrion explained.

Again Jamie smirked as Cersei glared at their brother's lack of respect for their father. Eventually Jamie too stood up, bowing to Revka and returning to his duty as a kings guard.

At the same moment, Revion stood in Fausten's study, the latter in his gown. The patriarch of the Amell family brushed aside some of the paper on his desk, clicking his fingers when he found what he was looking for. He was keeping it ready for him, but lately he had gotten more confused in his work. When he had cleaned his office, it hadn't taken long for it to get dirty again. He took from the top of his desk a great sword, in a black and silver scabbard. The sword had a cross shaped guard, also on the guard was a silver cross. The scabbard had a silver chain that tied a piece of black cloth to it.

"The sword of a dragon slayer," Fausten said, giving the blade to him.

"Balmung," Revion gripped the handle and the scabbard, pulling the blade partly free.

"A truly magnificent feat of dwarven forging, the blade is silverite, but the very tip of it is dragon bone. Two metals to create a blade ideal for killing two of the deadliest creatures in Thedas," Fausten explained.

"Dragons have been gone for a long time grandfather," Revion said.

"They'll come back," Fausten retorted.

"Yes!"

Revion said the word quietly, his eyes narrowed into a firm look. One Fausten shared, though not intentionally. Revion sheathed the blade and hefted it onto his back.

"You wanted to give this to Daylen didn't you?" he asked.

"To Daylen, maker no, child wouldn't be able to lift the blade let alone wield it," Fausten said.

"He's older than I grandfather, I'm sure he's become quite tall and strong," Revion said calmly.

Fausten nodded his head, looking back and forth between Revion and the table. He had been lost for a moment, thinking of another time, of the Daylen Amell he knew. Then he returned, the strong and sharp lord of the Amell family, pulling out from the pile of papers portraits he had taken from their frames. The portraits were of women.

"Marriage proposals, lords across the land are sending me marriage requests," Fausten said.

"Allow me to see," Revion said.

He took hold of the pictures and looked at them.

"This is lady Arella Windlock a lady from Highgarden, she likes art and dance, I believe Darius's son Larius would be a great fit for her. The next one is Oriana Lorans from Sunspear, she is intelligent but not frivolous, perhaps you could send her portrait and additional requests to Lord Unitas. Finally Janele from bear island, Ulrich's son Aeron would get on well with her," the young man explained.

"I see, is your judgement based purely upon them having compatible personalities?" Fausten asked.

"Of course, what else would I base it on?"

Fausten shook his head, though he smiled. He expected Revion to have become colder, more calculative.

"Approve of the matches, convince their elders to approve as well, you might be surprised by the results," Revion said, walking towards the door.

"You haven't just based these on personal feelings have you?"

Revion turned to look at his grandfather.

"Lord Unitas is looking for a wife, the Dornish are looking for a link to the Meadow. The Windlock's produce a significant amount of grain, Larius, though not a knight of skill is quickly proving to be a great entrepreneur. Janele and Aeron are both strong, that's all there is to really consider with the marriage." he explained.

"Revion, do you intend to leave? Where will you go? Where else is there left to go?" Fausten asked.

"I haven't decided yet," Revion shrugged his shoulders. "I might go and find a dragon!"

Fausten nearly spat the water he drank out. He tried to ask Revion what he meant, but he had already slammed the door behind him. Revion carried Balmung on his shoulder, walking through the corridors of the castle. He looked out of one of the windows and saw Dayk on the field. His brother was sparring with Loras Tyrell and Renly Baratheon. The young Baratheon was stumbling on his feet, his blunt blade batted aside by Dayk. There was an aggression in Dayk's stance that should have gone beyond a simple spar. He slid a second blunt sword from the rack and beckoned Renly and Loras to come at him. Loras was better than Renly by far, but he wasn't expecting Dayk's anger.

"Lord Amell," Tyrion called to him from across the corridor.

"Tyrion, good to see you again," Revion said.

"By the gods, you have grown, where will you go to next?" Tyrion asked.

"Not sure!"

"Might I suggest the wall, one thing I've heard must be done before one dies, is piss off of the edge of it," Tyrion explained.

"I've already done that," Dayk said.

"What?" the Lannister turned to him in shock. "Did you actually consider taking the black?"

"No!"

"Celibacy not for you either I see."

"It simply doesn't fulfil its purpose," Revion shook his head, and Tyrion saw a look of genuine regret across the young man's face.

"My boy the night's watch has been a waste of resources and lives for some time, it is a meal ticket for young men and an escape for criminals nothing more," Tyrion explained.

"It should be protecting the realm from what is out there," Revion said.

"What? Grumkins and Snarks?"

"From the evil that lies beyond the wall!"

There was no jest in his eyes, and he wasted no time in elaborating to the younger Lannister.

* * *

Ferelden Circle

 _(Fate Zero-OST-The battle is to the strong)_

The lion was roaring, launching fireballs from its mouth. Daylen blocked one with the shield, feeling the sheer heat of them on his arm. He dived for cover, barely avoiding the embrace of the flame. Leo rushed towards the pillar, swinging his sword at Daylen's shield. Daylen set his feet and raised the shield, again blocking Leo's strike. Infuriated, Leo screamed as he grabbed the shield and threw Daylen across the room, wrenching the shield from his grip. He threw the shield in an attempt to impale Daylen on it, but the young mage tilted his head back just in time. Daylen quickly grabbed one of the torches, pulling it from the wall just in time to parry Leo's lunge. Leo snapped his maw at Daylen, once, then twice, before ramming him into the wall.

 **"CHOW TIME YOU CUNT!"** Leo yelled, raising his maw towards Daylen's face.

Suddenly, an arrow flew in Leo's eye, pushing him away from Daylen in his fury. Having finally charged some Mana, Daylen released a torrent of lightning as he ran way from Leo.

 **"You've got to be kidding, you peons,"** Leo snarled, brushing off the lightning attack.

 _(Two Steps from Hell-United we stand, divided we fall)_

Daylen stepped towards his saviours, the very people he had saved. A templar archer who knocked back her bow, a couple of templar recruits with their swords and shields, and a templar hunter.

"Thank you for the assistance mage, leave this to us," the archer said.

She fired another arrow, one Leo quickly snapped with his jaws. The blood around him formed a pair of hooves, that he used to leap towards the templars and Daylen. He slammed one of the hooves into Daylen's chest, throwing him into the wall. Blood gushed out of Daylen's mouth as he felt the force of the blow break something inside him. One of the recruits blocked Leo's follow up strike, pushing him away from Daylen. Both recruits locked blades with Leo and managed to push him back, they gave the archer and the Hunter an opening. She shot him in the shoulder with an arrow, and he managed to cut at Leo's arm with his knives.

"This is our duty," the first recruit said, blocking Leo's strike with his shield.

"Blessed are those who stand before the corrupt," the second recruit slashed at Leo, keeping him on the defensive.

"And the wicked," the Hunter threw his knives into Leo's back, causing him to cry out.

"And do not falter," the archer fired another arrow into his leg.

Leo glared at the templars, and at Daylen, standing between them.

'He's always been like this, always had people around him, the red eyed freak should be an outcast amongst us, yet he still has friends, it isn't fair,' Leo growled.

A great flash emanated from the templars, and Leo suffered the wrath of a smite. The armour he had formed faded, and he fell back, his mana drained and motivation seemingly broken.

 _(End OST)_

"It isn't fair," Leo said as the templars approached him.

He lowered his head, thinking of the witch, thinking of his destiny, his pride.

"No," he whispered. "It isn't over YET!" he screamed.

He bit into his hand, drawing blood. Suddenly, the blood burst out of his hand, forming a wave that threw the templars back. The hunter was ripped apart, his and the second recruit's blood adding to the blob of blood. It formed the great maw of a lion.

 **"I'LL CRUSH YOU ALL!"** Leo yelled.

* * *

The Meadow

Aristanna Amell was called the light in the Meadow. And she fit the term more often than not, being the most innocent, and kindest of the Amell third generation. Despite her father's tragic death, she never allowed it to make her play a sad melody. She played a song of peace and joy across the forest, sitting against the tree she had since she started practicing at four years old. Aristanna kept her eyes closed as she played.

"That's a boring tune," a voice said beside her.

She yelped, falling onto her back. The elf boy who sneaked up on her laughed, hanging his head back and clutching his chest.

"Oh you should have seen your face, I'm not a bandit Ari," the boy said.

"Zayne, stop doing that," Aristanna punched the boys arm as she got off the floor.

"I'm glad I finally found you, I heard you play last night, it was missing one thing," Zayne said.

He was a relative of Stork, and shared some of his thin features. The silver haired boy produced an ocarina from his belt and nodded to Aristanna. They started playing together and the melody echoed across the forest. Revka smiled, hearing the song as she walked through the forest. Fausten was entertaining the Lannisters for now, Cersei kept Tommen and Myrcella with her. Dayk walked with Joffrey, not really enjoying his company. But it did offer valuable insight as to the art of masking. Hiding ones true intentions, it was all part of this 'game' of thrones the nobility played.

'Is that where the strength of the Amells lie? Our advantage over these people, that we don't see it as a game,' Dayk wondered.

Joffrey looked towards the two friends. Aristanna was playing a quicker tune known as 'Dragonforce'. Zayne swung a stick about, pretending to be a hero protecting Aristanna from monsters. There was a monster in the woods that day.

"Aristanna," Dayk called out to his cousin.

She stopped playing, smiling at Dayk. She was always kind to him, whilst everyone else lectured or scolded him, she always smiled. The smile however faded when Joffrey came into view. He strutted towards them, holding the sword on his belt with that air of superiority.

"You didn't play that melody last night, what was it called?" Joffrey asked.

"Dragonforce," Aristanna said.

"You should be playing a song about stags, my father killed the last of the dragons after all," Joffrey said.

"There aren't any songs about stags," Zayne retorted.

A dark look across Joffrey's face, one that made Dayk walk a bit closer to Aristanna. The little lion looked at the elf boy, a smirk crossing his face.

"What are you trying to be? A knight?" he asked.

"I'm just playing," Zayne said.

"Just playing my prince," Joffrey seethed, drawing his sword. "There's something I've noticed about the elves here, you all talk out of turn here, you speak to all the humans as if you're equals, when you're not. Why do you bother her ladyship?"

"He's not bothering me my prince, he's my friend," Aristanna said.

Dayk stepped in her way, shaking his head as the prince pointed his sword at Zayne. The elf boy dropped his stick and raised his hands up.

"You aren't fit to be in her presence, she should be friends with noble children, with princes and princesses," Joffrey kept on smiling as he pushed his sword against Zayne's cheek.

"Please stop," Aristanna begged, pushing past Dayk and grabbing Joffrey's sword.

She pulled the blade away from Zayne, standing between him and the prince. Joffrey looked confused for a moment, and when Aristanna's defiance set in, he narrowed his eyes in fury. Blood dripped from her hands as he tightened his grip on the sword.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Joffrey looked over his shoulder, seeing the furious face of Revka Amell.

"This is none of your concern lady Amell," Joffrey said, pulling his sword away from Aristanna.

Suddenly, Revka slapped the prince across the face. It wasn't her hardest hit, Dayk knew that, Aristanna and Zayne knew that. But still the prince fell to the floor, clutching his cheek as if he was in agony. He looked up at Revka in fear and denial, this sort of thing didn't happen to him. And it didn't, not to a prince, not without consequence.

"You're coming with me," Revka said, grabbing Joffrey's sword and picking him up by his ear.

"Mother what are you..."

Revka snarled, pointing the blade at Dayk, conveying to him her anger and disappointment. She marched with Joffrey in tow, through the forest and towards the royal tent. Cersei and Robert had been standing there, the queen's eyes narrowed in fury upon seeing her boy being dragged. Revka released her grip on Joffrey, letting him run to his parents.

"Those savages of the Meadow, they attacked me!" Joffrey said.

"I treated you with friendship Lady Revka, I respected you as well Lord Fausten..."

"Hang on woman, we will not jump to conclusions, what happened?" Robert asked, silencing Cersei as she nursed Joffrey.

"One of their elf servants insulted our house, I was protecting the honour of the Baratheons when Aristanna and Lady Amell attacked me," Joffrey explained.

"Your niece hides a savage side as well I see," Cersei said.

"That is a lie," Aristanna said, running behind Revka with Zayne and Dayk.

Dayla and her friends ran to the clearing, alongside the Lannister and Baratheon guards. Jamie looked between his family members and the family he respected, knowing this wouldn't end well.

"You dare to call my son a liar," Cersei growled.

"You're his mother your grace, you know perfectly well that he's lying," Revka countered.

"Zayne and I were playing, all Zayne said was that there wasn't many songs about stags, it was a statement of fact not an insult," Aristanna explained.

Dayk, whom had previously been looking at the ground stepped forward. The signature Amell determination was in his eyes as he defended his family.

"The prince drew his sword on Zayne, Aristanna stepped in the way and grabbed the blade," she held her cut hands up as proof.

"Then I did what one of his parents should have done a long time ago," Revka held up her hand, the hand that had struck royalty.

"You struck my son," Cersei seethed.

"Your son was violent and wanted blood, do you want the same?" Revka asked, lifting up the sword.

The other kings guard members put their hands to their blades.

"Careful Revka, before I make you the one who pays the price," Robert said.

"Punishment for a situation your prince created?"

"Seize them!" Cersei commanded.

"Seven fucking hells woman, children fight all right!"

"No, she struck our son, there is a price to be paid for striking royalty!"

 _(Fate Apocrypha-OST-La Pucelle)_

The hearts of the southern guests and those of the Meadow froze. In that moment, watching his mother and seeing in her a strength he had never seen before, Dayk realised what made the Amells so strong. They all saw the strength of the Amells. Revka lifted the blade to her own wrist and moved her arm through it. She grit her teeth together, blood spraying across the grass. Her eyes, were on Cersei, defiant, fighting through pain, fighting her. Cersei was overcome by it, unable to speak, unable to glare or even to feel some sort of satisfaction. Revka cut, and cut, the blade moving in one direction, her hand in the other. Dayk saw it, the strength of the Amells. The determination to never give up on what is right, to find a way to win.

"There," Revka snarled.

She picked up her hand and threw it at Cersei and Joffrey's feet.

"Is that enough blood for you?" she asked.

Jamie and the other kings guard overcame their shock, and tipped their heads in respect. Even Robert was at a loss for words. Revka huffed, still standing despite the pain she was in. Damion had his moment years ago, this was hers. As he stood to protect the innocent, so too did she.

* * *

Circle of Magi

 _(Dissidia-March OST)_

And so too did he, the red eyed Amell. His right arm was extended, left arm holding one of the templar's swords. The lion's maw had been stopped by a square mana construct. Leo shifted the blood, creating the horned head of a stag. Daylen raised his hand, turning the square into a ball that smashed into the stag. Leo then created the maw of a dragon, but the ball turned into a cube and rammed into the dragon's mouth. The force of it pushed Leo back, the blood flowing around his shoulder like a shroud. A blue mana sword materialised in his hand as Daylen took a few steps forward. He squeezed his burnt hand into a fist, before he got into a stance with his sword at the ready. Light thinly formed around his body, and Leo widened his eyes.

'He's drawing his remaining mana inwards, to increase his stamina, his focus, his strength, it's crude and incomplete, but that is...' Leo paused, remembering the witch and her teachings. 'He's set himself on the path, of an arcane warrior!'

Daylen raised his burnt hand, catching Leo's attention. He moved his index and middle finger together, beckoning Leo to come towards him. Seeing this challenge, Leo's teeth grinded together and he yelled, lost to his fury.

Next Chapter 18: Rage and determination

* * *

Hope everyone enjoyed the chapter, next time the conclusion to the battle between Leo and Daylen


	18. Chapter 18

Disclaimer: I don't own A Song of Ice and Fire or Dragon Age

* * *

House Amell of Westeros

Chapter 18: Rage and determination

That moment lingered in the queen's mind. She had been beaten, her desire fulfilled, but something robbed from her as well. For as selfish and as cruel as she could be sometimes, she truly felt that Revka was her friend. She remembered the defiance in her eyes, the sight of the hand at her feet. To strike royalty was a crime, no matter the reason. In the worst cases it could be treason. Revka knew this, she understood this, but she struck Joffrey anyway. And, knowing that taking credit wasn't enough, knowing Cersei's heart so completely, she punished herself. In that moment, Revka Amell, heiress of a small patch of land had shown that she was stronger than the queen of the seven kingdoms. Anger and admiration collided within the heart of the queen, and for once she was rendered speechless, totally and utterly beaten.

"Fucking hell, get a surgeon quick," Robert said.

Yet still Revka stood, looking at Cersei as if she was going to challenge her again.

"You are either the bravest or stupidest woman I have ever met Revka Amell, gods you're strong," Robert said.

"Is it done, is it enough? Or do you want more?" Revka asked, still talking to Cersei.

"There's no need for more," Robert retorted.

"IS IT ENOUGH YOUR GRACE!" Revka yelled, taking a step towards Cersei, showing her the stump.

Her eyes fluttered, vision blurring, but still she stood and waited for Cersei to make some kind of response. Dayk walked over to his mother, supporting her as she stumbled slightly.

"My girl, that was the bravest thing I have ever seen, you truly are the strength of our family," Fausten said.

"Mother please, we need to get you treated," Dayk whispered to her.

Suffice to say, the royal family had finished visiting the Meadow. Most of the major families of the south had seen the strength of the Amells that day. Robert had been impressed by Dayla and Revka, whom had shown Westeros the great strength inherent in the Amell family. And by subjecting herself to law usually applied to commoners, Revka began a debate amongst certain members of the nobility, should they be exempt from the punishments inflicted on their own people? That all started in the days following that incident. But the moment before the royal family left, Cersei visited her friend, or at least the woman whom used to be her friend. Despite being in a sweat and having bandages around her stump, Revka was strong and looked up at Cersei from her bed without admiration.

"We mothers are willing to do whatever it takes to defend our children aren't we?" she asked her.

"Is that what you call it, protecting your son, you do him no favours by coddling him, or enabling his violent tendencies," Revka retorted.

"What would you be willing to do to defend your own child Revka, your own favourite son, that boy Daylen?"

Revka chuckled and closed her eyes, shaking her head in rejection and even amusement over what Cersei had said.

"There have never been favourites Cersei, I understand that you can't help but feel that Cersei, but the truth is amongst parents there are no favourite children. Our duty is to give love in equal share. As for Daylen, I never needed to worry, I knew that he was capable of great things. He too, exemplifies the strength of the Amells," Revka explained.

* * *

 _(Birth By Sleep-Rage Awakened)_

Leo and Daylen slammed their blades together. Sparks raining on the floor as they pushed against one another. Daylen shoved Leo back, swinging his sword towards his face. Leo barely managed to deflect the blade and thrust his own sword forward. Likewise, Daylen barely jumped back in time. His swung his sword wide, too wide for him to be recognised as a trained swordsman. But he was quick and strong. Leo had training, or at least as close as he could come to it. That woman told him how men held the sword, how they used them. Through the demon he also saw how to wield a blade, techniques from elf arcane warriors long dead. Daylen however, what he didn't have in training or technique, made up for it with his strength and speed. In fact, if anything it made Leo's implanted knowledge useless.

Daylen swung his sword into Leo's block, throwing him backwards. He then rushed forward, delivering a flurry of blows that Leo struggled to parry and block. Before Leo knew it, Daylen's head was slamming against his. Then his fist, his knee, he shoulder barged him and knocked him to the floor. Daylen dragged his sword, nearly cutting Leo in the back as he rolled to his feet. Leo's face grew desperate when he locked swords with Daylen. With one hand Daylen was driving him back, and even hurting him with the hand he had damaged. Snarling like his name sake lion, Leo pushed, attempting to thrust his mana blade through Daylen's sword, passing it through the blade and piercing his chest. But much to Leo's horror, Daylen passed mana through the templar sword, enchanting it with gold light for just a moment. A moment that was enough to shatter Leo's construct.

"BASTARD!" Leo screamed, summoning a torrent of fire with the mana he had.

It was enough to make Daylen roll back. Leo then moved through the smoke and summoned another mana blade, bringing it down on Daylen's face. It cut into his left brow, nearly taking his eye off.

'If only it had, oh if only,' Leo grimaced.

He managed to cut Daylen's chest, enough to make him grit his teeth together. Whilst Leo had his sword wide, Daylen barged into him with his shoulder. Pushing him again, he swept his blade over Leo's chest and cutting his collar bone. It split open his robe, but Daylen didn't end there. He locked blades with Leo, stomped on his foot, grabbed him by his shoulder. And with a pull and a sidestep, he slammed Leo head first into the floor.

'He can't be beating me, he can't be,' Leo shook his head in denial, spitting out one of his teeth.

He slammed his hand into the ground, creating a wave that threw Daylen back. The young mage kept his blade on the ground, using it to slow his slide just enough to get his footing back. Leo got off of the floor, slamming his mana blade into the ground. It tore up several pillars of rock that knocked Daylen back.

"I won't lose, I won't lose, I won't lose, I won't lose, lions can't lose, TO FUCKING BIRDS!" Leo screamed.

Daylen got back on his feet and looked towards Leo. The blood mage was pushing his magic beyond how it should be used. He should have become a full blown abomination sooner, but was just on the edge of it. A bulge appeared on his left arm and he screamed as it blew up. Out of the hole in his arm, blood sprayed, then stopped short of the floor, flowing and waving around as if it had become an additional appendage. Leo grinned, the new appendage punching a dent into the ground. He materialised a pair of mana swords this time.

 _(Fate/Zero OST- The world is tumbling down)_

With renewed vigour, Leo resumed his assault, charging at Daylen. The blood arm slammed into the ground beneath him, barely missing his foot. Leo then swung both his swords into Daylen's, locking the blades and pushing him back. He swung his left, cutting Daylen's cheek, then thrust with the right, leaving a cut on his scalp. Daylen slammed his head into Leo's, knocking him off balance. But as Daylen brought his sword down, the blood arm shielded Leo, and left the tip of the blade blunt.

'I've got enough in me to launch a fire ball, and maybe some ice, but nothing much else. If I diverted the mana I'm pouring into my body, I might be able to charge more quicker. But I'm too tired, I can't rely on my stamina alone to block his attacks,' Daylen thought.

'He's not even possessed, but he still fights as such, if I use a bit more of my blood, I should be able to create a seal to block off his magic. Once that's done, he'll have nothing to fight me with but that blunt instrument,' Leo grinned over his own plan.

Daylen threw his hand forward, coating the area Leo placed his seal on in ice. The demonic mage yelled in frustration, his plan ruined.

'That leaves a few seconds of recharge time, if I keep on the offensive, he'll fall back on his blood and his body will suffer for it,' Daylen thought as he rushed forward.

He parried and struck Leo's blades and arms again and again, running and sliding around him. With a jump he dodged the blood arm, then stepped off of it and swung his blade into Leo's swords. They shattered, and Leo stepped back in horror. He raised his arms on instinct as Daylen swung the sword at him. Suddenly, the blood arm grabbed the blade and snapped it, before bashing Daylen aside. He bounced across the floor, sliding into a position on his back, still holding the hilt of the broken blade.

"Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic, you actually thought you could slay me? The templars couldn't do it, what makes you think you could?" Leo asked as he began walking towards Daylen.

"So far you've run from the templars, you only fought recruits, I bet you wouldn't last long against battle tested templars," Daylen said.

"Oh really Amell, is that what you're trying to do, get me to do something stupid like wait for the First Enchanter and Knight-Commander?" Leo grinned.

He ran at Daylen, kneeing him in the gut before punching him across the face.

"You don't hit that hard," Daylen retorted, slamming his head into Leo's.

Then he punched the man, with his burnt hand. Daylen yelled, clutching the arm as it stung. Leo burst out laughing, kneeing Daylen again and punching him twice. Again Daylen head butted him, throwing him off balance.

"I like this savagery Daylen, I love it, there's nothing I'd like more than to beat you to death, or strangle you, or punch your fucking head until it's mashed into a paste," Leo explained, hitting Daylen again.

As Leo swung his fist again, Daylen grabbed his arm. Gripping it tightly, he then moved it towards his knee, which he move upwards at the same time. The result, a dislodged right arm, and agony for Leo.

"You bastard, you bastard, you bastard!" Leo let out a roar, knocking Daylen back with his blood arm.

The arm expanded and punched Daylen in the stomach, forcing vomit out of his mouth. It threw Daylen away, but Daylen still got back up.

"This, this is what I want, you stubbornly getting up, until the moment you can't, because of me!" Leo cheered, hitting Daylen again and again.

Daylen was coated in bruises, blood coming out of cuts on his arm and his nose. He conjured a barrier, only for it to shatter as Leo's expanding blood fist struck it. Leo again kneed Daylen in the chest and then pushed him back. With a laugh he slammed the blood fist down, even as Daylen rolled out of the way.

"You who are so self righteous, you who are so kind, you who has no dream of his own, you who values every life but his own, you who exemplifies everything that my family seeks to destroy," Leo ranted and grinned with each step he and Daylen took towards one another.

Then, Leo struck, knocking Daylen against the wall. For a moment, it seemed that Daylen would finally fall. But his feet then set firmly against the ground, his arms went limp and his neck and back shook, slouched but still standing. The blood fist coming out of Leo's shoulder again grew and he rushed towards Dayle. He took in the fear in Daylen's eyes as he raised his already injured arm. And he laughed, hearing Daylen's scream as his attack impacted, pinning him to the wall. He pushed the arm forward, feeling the pressure on his target getting tighter.

"You thought you could be a hero, WELL THIS IS A HERO'S FATE YOU MORON!" Leo yelled. "I'll crush you, and your pathetic ideals!"

 _(End OST)_

* * *

Revka screamed as she woke up. She was sweating, and had broken some of her stitches. Climbing out of her bed, Revka took a deep breath. Dayk sat at her bedside, the sight of her boy resting his head on his arm brought a smile to her face. Taking a blanket from the corner of the room, she draped it over Dayk. The sun had started to rise and yet another new day had come. Revka looked at her stump.

"Worth it," she whispered.

It had been worth it, to beat those who considered themselves untouchable. Revka put on her cloak and made her way to the birds' nests. She fed Garret one of his treats and took the letter on his leg. Removing the seal, Revka walked over to the castle wall and began to read it.

 _To Lady Revka Amell_

 _It is with great regret that I must tell you of this, and request that you never reveal it to anyone. Hopefully by the time this letter has reached you, the tower will have recovered from the recent tragedy that has befallen it. A tragedy that unfortunately your son was a part of._

* * *

Daylen opened his eyes, and all he could see was darkness. Was it truly the end? Was it even real? He wondered and wandered, trying to find a light.

"What are you doing lad?"

He turned, seeing a black haired man in red armour. The man smiled as he looked at Daylen, shrugging his shoulders.

"Don't make Revka cry, and don't waste the lesson I taught you, a knight is sworn to valour!" the man declared as he began to rise.

"Wait, wait please, UNCLE DAMION!" Daylen screamed, reaching up.

Daylen took a few steps back and shook his head. None of it should be real. It was the pain he must be in, it was making him hallucinate. Turning around, he was met with a sight that made him gasp.

 _ **(Kingdom Hearts-Xion theme)**_

"I wanted to see you one last time!"

"Neria," Daylen whispered.

He began to approach her, running to her as she began to fall. Grabbing her, he crouched, shaking his head.

"No, I'm dying, I'm going through too much pain, its making me see you, making me think that I have the chance to say goodbye," Daylen said.

"Maybe you're right, maybe I'm not real, what I do know is that Neria...I made my choice Daylen," Neria said.

"No, I was wrong, my ideals made her kill herself. I'm pathetic," Daylen cried, punching at the ground. "I went on about living up to a dream, but I was just a stupid child, a stupid child who thought he could be a hero, who thought others could be heroes. But the truth is that...everyone is out for themselves and whoever lives for others will fail, always, always fail like me, like uncle Damion, like you."

"I haven't failed yet, it was my choice Daylen, I wanted to save my best friend. I wanted him to live because he wanted to live too and because he could become a hero. That is my heroism Daylen, that's how I succeed, I know you can too Daylen. You and Jowan were my best friends," slowly Neria began to fade.

Daylen lowered his head as the particles raised up.

"You're still alive Daylen," he heard the voices of his uncle and friend. "You still have mana left!"

He opened his eyes and felt the tense pressure on his arm.

"I'm still alive," he whispered. "I still have mana left, en...enough time went by, I have mana now!"

 **(30 Seconds to Mars-This is War (Instrumental))**

He snarled, pouring Earth magic into the blood arm. Suddenly, Leo's new appendage exploded, coating Leo and Daylen in blood. The blood mage yelled in agony as he fell back, clutching the hole in his shoulder. His eyes widened in pure horror as Daylen began walking towards him. Leo tried to punch Daylen across the face. But Daylen grabbed his arm, and ice suddenly covered Leo's wrist.

"Oh maker," Leo gasped.

Fire then charged Daylen's fist as he punched Leo across the face, throwing him back. Leo's burnt skin fell off, revealing a hide that resembled a Pride demon. He shook his head in utter denial, this wasn't supposed to happen, not to him. He was a prince, the son of a lion and a stag. That witch had promised him he would escape, that he would return and reclaim his destiny.

"You killed me," Daylen whispered, catching Leo's attention

He stepped back, terrified of this demon that Daylen had become.

"She died to keep me alive, if I die," Daylen's voice was strained, his eyes suddenly drifting to the floor.

Leo grinned, Daylen was still weak. He took a step forward, only to feel an intense pressure emanating from the half dead mage.

"If I die she'll have died for nothing," he snapped, waving his arm angrily.

"And I won't have that! Do you hear me? I WONT HAVE THAT!" Daylen yelled.

He raised his arm, light gathering into it until suddenly, a blade took shape. A mana blade, bigger and more intense than the one Leo had created.

'No,' Leo gasped in realisation. 'That blade, is more powerful than what even a trained Knight-Enchanter could make!'

Daylen pointed the blade at Leo, forcing him to take another step towards the wall.

"NO! NO! NO! NO!" Leo screamed.

The skin on his hands turned to scales and partially expanded. Horns grew out of the back of his head and his teeth sharpened into fangs, two small eyes appeared on the right side of his scaly face.

 **"I am destined to be a king, I am willing to sacrifice anything, and anyone to achieve my destiny. To crush the weak under foot, because the way of the world. It is just how it is,"** his voice was demonic, but still carried the desperation and delusions of a man who was so sure that he was right.

Electricity and mana gathered in his hands and he thrust them forward. Daylen braced his legs and held his mana sword out. The electricity clashed with his blade and the force that Leo summoned grinded against it, threatening to push Daylen back. But still he held firm, his sword shining brighter as he began to push forward with his arm. Gritting his teeth together, arm shaking, mana bursting from his body, Daylen released a roar. The electricity deflected from the blade, right across Leo's body, setting parts of it alight. He screamed, and the wave he had thrown at Daylen, was thrown back into him. The bricks behind him shattered, and the air hit his back. It was still a steep drop towards the lake, one that would break a human body.

 _(Fate-Unlimited Blade Works-Excalibur)_

Leo looked towards Daylen. The young man stood, holding his mana blade up. Leo shook his head, a final act of begging. The blade grew longed and shined brighter as Daylen brought it down. He yelled in fury and Leo screamed, the blade cutting a line over his chest, blood spraying from the wound.

 **"NO! NO! I AM A BARAAAAGH!"** Leo screamed as he fell from the tower, straight towards the lake.

 _(End OST)_

As the ripple from the splash faded, the mana sword disappeared. Daylen stumbled back, his arms going limp as the templars awoke from unconsciousness. His breathing got heavier and his vision began to blur.

"I did it uncle Damion, Neria, I beat the monster, just like a hero would," he whispered.

The rubble covering the door was suddenly blown aside and Irving, Greagoir and the other senior mages and templars rushed into the room. They turned to Daylen and the hole in the wall, and became silent.

"The boy, did he just..." but Uldred didn't finish, he was overcome by the awe of it all.

"Daylen," Irving called out.

He ran to Daylen, catching him as he fell back.

"About time, you showed up," Daylen huffed, before closing his eyes.

"Wynn, quickly, HURRY!" Irving screamed. "My boy, my boy you did good, you did good," he whispered, running a hand through his scalp and cradling him.

* * *

 **(My Hero Academia OST- From me to you)**

 _Daylen had pushed his body to its absolute limit. He pushed himself more than any mage would have, more than any templar it seems as well. But I decided it was best that Denerim, and the rest of the tower would believe that it was the new Knight-recruits who had killed the Abomination. Daylen seems to be modest about his achievement, when he was able to speak again he never spoke about it. The first Enchanter and the other healers of the circle have treated Daylen. Though he will be able to still use his arm, nerve damage in it will give him the occasional spasm of pain and it is somewhat grotesque to others. He also has some scars on his face, though nothing that will horrify others._

 _He has returned to his dormitory, and has been welcomed by his friends. Part of me suspects they know what he did for the tower, and their admiration of him has grown. But they have worshipped him as a hero, rather revered him as a friend. I watched as they laughed and joked with him, as nothing had happened. His closest friend and he mourned the passing of an unfortunate victim of the abomination._

 _In short Lady Revka, I find your son to be reckless, defiant and at times disrespectful of the hierarchy and the ideals of our chantry entirely. But he is kind, considerate, and loyal to those he calls friend, loyal to a fault. And in all my years in the tower, I have not seen anyone master himself as well as your son has. I hold the utmost confidence and faith in your son's ability to succeed._

 _With respect_

 _From Knight-Commander Rhys Greagoir_

Revka rolled up the letter and held it close to her heart.

"Thank you maker," she whispered.

* * *

 **One Year later**

Kinloch Hold

Daylen rose from his bed, stretching his arms as he smiled with content. Jowan was still sleeping when the templars came in. Now eighteen (and a half) Daylen was as tall as, if not taller than some of the templars there. He'd grown strong, healthy and in knowledge since that day he faced Leo. His hair spiked wildly and he stood with pride, no bothered by the burn and scar tissue on his face.

"It's time," one of the guards said.

Daylen nodded his head. It had been the day he was waiting for, the day he would take his Harrowing.

Next Chapter 19: Origin

* * *

Hope everyone enjoyed the chapter, next time in the final chapter of Daylen's part in the story, we cover the moment the game begins


	19. Chapter 19

Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Age or A Song of Ice and Fire

Here it is, the long awaited Circle mage origin, or at least the first part of it, I thought of getting everything into one chapter, but I then I felt the Magi origin came in two parts, the first being the Harrowing.

* * *

On a cliff overlooking the dark waters of Lake Calenhad, stands the tower fortress that is home to the circle of Magi. This tower is the only place in Ferelden where mages may study their art amongst others of their kind. Within these high stone walls, the Circle practices its magic and trains apprentices in the proper use of their powers. But the circle tower is as much a prison as a refuge, the ever vigilant templars of the chantry watch over all mages, constantly alter for any sign of corruption.

This gilded cage has been the only life Daylen has known. Torn from a life he could have led, he was grafted as an apprentice. That apprenticeship was nearly over, all that remained was the final test. As Daylen was led to the top of the tower, he considered every obstacle he had faced, fear and paranoia from those whom only saw his eyes, the loss of friends and even the attempt on his own life. That had been more of a trial than anything else, having pushed his body and magic beyond what had previously been expected of him. He hadn't told anyone about how he had manifested a spiritual blade, without the preparation or study that Knight-Enchanters went through. It hadn't been to protect himself, but modesty. He just didn't see how his achievements were relevant. Today was the day such a thing mattered, and Daylen believed it to be the only day it would matter. When he finally reached the spire, he saw the circular chamber where the harrowing was held. The gothic architecture was often covered by book cases in the rest of the tower, but it was present in the harrowing chamber. Nothing obscured the view of the walls or the windows. There was a pedestal in the centre of the room and several templars were present in full armour. Daylen noticed in particular First-Enchanter Irving, and a templar who had come to the tower a few months ago. He was a blonde haired man, the same age as Daylen. There was an earnestness in his eyes, typical of most new templars, he was probably filled with the naiveté and dedication to the chant. They had spoken a few times, and Daylen never had a problem with Cullen, and he never bore grudges against others either. Today though there was a drop in Cullen's shoulders, he was apprehensive and Daylen knew why. This was probably Cullen's first harrowing, and Greigoir wasn't against using a Harrowing to test a new templar's resolve.

"Magic exists to serve man and never to rule over him," the Knight-Commander said, walking away from Cullen and looking at Daylen.

"Thus spoke the prophet Andraste as she cast down the Tevinter Imperium, ruled by mages who had brought the world to the edge of ruin."

The same rhetoric that was spoken in class, a reminder of what mages should never be. Daylen despised the slavery, but he was going to reserve judgement on people from Tevinter until actually meeting them. In that regard, Daylen hadn't yet developed an opinion of any culture really.

"Your magic is a gift, but it is also a curse, for demons of the dream realm, the fade are drawn to you and seek to use you as a gateway into this world," Greagoir explained.

"This is why the Harrowing exists, the ritual sends you into the fade," Irving said, walking to Daylen's side. "And there you will face a demon, armed with only your will."

"It will turn you into an abomination, and the templars will be forced to slay you," Daylen saw no malice in Greagoir's face, and felt none in his voice.

Only the cold duty of a man bound by his honour. Greagoir raised his hand, pointing at the glowing substance on the pedestal.

"This is lyrium, the very essence of magic and your gateway into the fade," he said.

"The harrowing is a secret out of necessity child. Every mage must go through this trial by fire, as we succeeded, so shall you," Irving explained, confident in his apprentice but also concerned.

That concern made Greagoir look at Irving and shake his head. For though Irving was a good teacher and loyal to the rules of the circle, he was casting favouritism on Daylen.

"Keep your wits about you and remember the Fade is a realm of dreams, the spirits may rule it but your own will is real."

"The apprentice must go through this test alone, First Enchanter," Greagoir said. "You are ready!" he motioned to the pedestal and Daylen nodded his head.

Slowly he walked towards the pedestal, and touched the lyrium. Immediately it began to shine in his hand, Daylen's eyes letting out a red glow, a black smog briefly flowing around him as the light of the lyrium increased in its intensity. Daylen gripped his wrist, wincing as he felt a type of phantom pain, experiencing again his arm being burned by Leo. Closing his eyes, Daylen calmed his heart and mind and focused on the fade. The light spread and consumed the room.

Game of Dragon: House Amell of Westeros

Origin

 _He stood in the snow, leaning on a sword of ethereal energy. Adjusting his grip on his shield he rose, ignoring the snow striking his face. Looking over his shoulder, he saw the back of his ally. A brown haired man in armour and furs. He gripped his sword with both hand, fingers briefly touching the wolf on the pommel. Red eyes met grey and they nodded to one another. One charged his weapons with fire, and the other joined the side of a great white wolf. Both charged towards ghosts in the night._

Daylen opened his eyes, and found his view rather skewed.

"What the hell was that?" he muttered.

That strange vision surpassed waking up to find himself upside down. His feet perfectly attached to ground, patches of stone and grass within a great hazy landscape. The only world he had ever known was reflected occasionally in pillars, book cases and steps, all of which were taken directly from the tower. Daylen remembered them as the exact objects he had seen in his long life there. The rest of the fade was dirt, flames and torrents of thorns and bushes. Daylen took a step forward, and suddenly his vision and stance returned to normal. He stumbled slightly, shaking off his delirium and recovering his bearings. Breathing out he felt how real the feelings were, the breath on his skin, the strain of his muscles as he stretched his arms. The fire, ice and lightning he conjured, all of it seemed so real.

"My own will is real," Daylen said out loud.

He walked along the path, a spiral staircase that eventually led to a dirt road surrounded by thorns. Wisps flew through the bushes, taking on the appearance of green ghosts. With a lash of their hands they threw energy towards Daylen. He fell back on the dirt, narrowly avoiding the wisps and on instinct lightning shot from his hand, passing through both spirits. They screamed in pain, their voices sounding like Neria's. Crawling across the floor, Daylen watched as they flew away, still screaming.

'Did she scream when she gave her life for mine?' he wondered.

It was for a moment of great distress. But then, something else caught his eye. Something that crawled out a hole in the ground. It was a mouse, a tiny little thing that Daylen wouldn't have seen if he was moving.

"Someone else thrown to the wolves, as fresh and unprepared as ever," the mouse suddenly said.

Daylen looked down at the creature, blinking in surprise.

"You can talk?"

"For all the good it does me here, it isn't right that they do this. Not to you, me or anyone!"

"No, it isn't," Daylen muttered. "But right or not, I will succeed!"

"You say that now, so have many others before you, look at me, look at what can happen. It's always the same, but it's not your fault. You're in the same boat I was aren't you?"

He was about to move when the Mouse suddenly turned into a man. An unassuming brown haired man in a red circle robe.

"Allow me to welcome you to the fade, you can call me...well, Mouse," the man said.

"Not your real name I assume," Daylen said.

"No, I don't remember anything from before. The templars kill you if you take too long you see. They figure you fail, and they don't want something getting out. That's what they did to me, I think, I have no body to reclaim. And you don't have much time before you end up the same," the man explained, his voice filled with resentment, caution and regret, all the things that Daylen understood.

"I'm sorry for what happened to you," he said.

"Don't waste time with that talk, you don't want to end up like this. There's something here, contained, just for an apprentice like you. You have to face the creature, a demon and resist it if you can. That's your way out, or your opponent's if the templars won't kill you. A test for you, a tease for the creatures of the fade," Mouse explained.

"I doubt it would be as simple as just fighting a demon," Daylen said, turning away from Mouse for a moment, thinking to himself.

"You would be a fool to attack everything you see, what you face is powerful, cunning," Mouse's words seemed to mirror Daylen's thoughts.

'All too well,' Daylen thought, looking at Mouse for a moment.

"There are others here, other spirits, they will tell you more and even help you, if you can believe anything you see," Daylen nodded his head at Mouse. "I will follow if that's all right, my chance was long ago, but you...you may have a way out."

He returned to his namesake form. Scurrying across the floor, hiding as Daylen encountered more wisps. As he conjured shields to block their blasts, Daylen thought of Mouse and his words. He thought of the warnings within those words. If Mouse had been a circle mage, and he was truly stuck here in the fade, then he was perhaps a victim of the templars and their cruel system. Or he was something else, something that justified the fears of the chantry and the methods of the templars. There were so many possibilities, points of view that Daylen had to consider. He shook his arm as he blasted a wisp with ice. The burn on his arm still stung, the blasts he was hit with hurt.

'Is it because I believe it hurts?' he wondered for a moment.

Crossing his arms together, Daylen again blocked blasts released by the ghostly wisps. He felt them again and again, and even tried to believe that they were nothing. Just manifestations of fear and other emotions.

'Fear isn't real,' he tried to tell himself.

But he kept on reminding himself of the danger, that the fear, and everything else within the fade was as real as the waking world. Because he was here now, in this moment. Fire and electricity surged through his hands and he blew the wisps away. He looked at Mouse from the corner of his eye, crawling out of a hiding hole. Still the mouse followed him, perhaps invested in seeing a fellow mage not meet his fate.

'Perhaps,' Daylen mused as he advanced.

They left the corridor of thorns for a island floating within the fade. Within the largest mound of it was a circle of fire, and Daylen could barely make out what was within it. He looked further at the path ahead, and saw a light. This light had come from another spirit, standing around waiting, as if a sales man at a market. Indeed, the spirit had racks of wares behind it. But the spirit, unlike the wisps had taken on a unique shape. It was a knight, his armour almost similar to a templars, especially with the wings either side of his helmet. The T shaped visor, the robes across his legs. But he stood differently, not like a templar, but the way Fausten often stood.

"Another mortal thrown into the flames and left to burn I see," the spirit said as Daylen and Mouse approached.

When Daylen got closer, he saw the incredible weapons behind the spirits. Swords and spears and staves. None of them had divine decorations, but they had all been perfectly crafted and Daylen could see they were sharp.

"Your mages have devised a cowardly test. Better you were pitted against each other to prove your mettle with skill than to be sent unarmed against a demon," the spirit explained.

"You know why I'm here?" Daylen asked.

"You are not the first sent here for such testing, nor shall you be the last I suspect. That you remain means you have not yet defeated your hunter, I wish you a glorious battle to come," the spirit said.

"What kind of spirit are you?"

"I am Valour, a warrior spirit, I hone my weapons in search of the perfect expression of combat."

"What else do you know about the harrowing?" Daylen asked, curious about the point of view of a spirit.

"Is that what your test is called? I know little of your mortal ways, I do know that a demon has been called and told that a meal awaits it. It will not, cannot leave, until one of you is dead," Valour explained.

Daylen stepped back in shock. He knew the point of the harrowing was to face a demon, but this new knowledge made him even more appalled with the circle. They lectured of the dangers of demons, but they were trapping them, using them to test mages. It wasn't full possession, and it wasn't blood magic. But it was a form of magic that they would preach of being taboo.

'We're using the fade and spirits to help cast out spells, but to physically control a demon, or provoke one and turn it loss on a human, isn't that the kind of thing people are afraid of us for?'

He shook his head, he didn't have time for debates and questioning himself. All of this was a test, he had to be ready.

"Did you make all of these weapons?" Daylen asked Valour.

"They are brought into being by my will. I understand that in your world, mages are the only ones who can will things into being. Those mortal who cannot, must lead such hollow, empty lives," Valour said and for a moment Daylen was tempted to rebuke him.

Mages often craved not to have their power. But at the same time, there were mages who adored it. They didn't see themselves as having anything else to offer the world, or themselves. Daylen himself couldn't imagine his life without magic. The spirits were the same, the fade was their world and the rules of the fade bound them, kept them sane. What every human saw as weird, was normal to the spirits.

"Would they affect the demon?" Daylen pointed at the blades.

"Without a doubt, in this realm, everything that exists is the expression of a thought. Do you think these blades be steel? The staves be wood? Do you believe they draw blood? A weapon is a single need for battle, and my will makes that need reality," Valour explained. "Do you truly desire one of my weapons? I will give one to you...if you agree to duel me first, Valour shall test your mettle as it should be tested."

Daylen took a few steps back, wondering if this was his test. Demons were capable to deception, what better deception than a knight of honour? Gathering his mana, Daylen formed fire, ice and lightning around him. He extended his hand as Valour materialised his sword and a shield with a lion's head on it. The spirit, and Mouse widened their eyes as Daylen formed the same mana sword he had when he fought Leo. He wasn't going to make the mistakes he made in that fight, he would finish it in one blow. Swinging the sword with all his strength, Daylen shattered Valour's shield.

"Damn it," he thought, seeing Valour follow through, swinging his sword towards his neck.

Valour stopped the blade inches from Daylen's neck, gripping his shoulder with his free hand.

"You have proven yourself to have significant willpower, to use spells like that, but," the warrior spirit paused, turning his sword to dust and stepping away from Daylen. "You balance the thin line between compassion and rage, and something else as well. Never have I seen mages conjure such magic," he removed a staff from the wall.

Though it seemed more like a spear, with the heavy bludgeon on the end of the handle, the metallic shaft. Then there was the blade at the end of it, not a typical spear blade meant only for stabbing, but slashing too. There was an almost ethereal glow across the blade, a piece of blue cloth was also wrapped around the shaft, just before the blade. Daylen took hold of the staff and felt a great rush run through him. The shaft turned a blue and gold colour, and the blade grew larger, more complex in its shape, the blue cloth becoming fur of some kind. Daylen held the spear with both hands and tested it, swinging it around, then thrusting before putting it at the rest position.

"Yes, your will matches that weapon, but take care mage, never let your will waver," Valour said.

Daylen nodded his head, moving on. Looking at the weapon he had been given, Daylen couldn't help but think of his grandfather's spear. The spear had many runes placed on it, turning it into as close to a mages staff that a warrior could use. Daylen tapped the staff against the ground, as his grandfather often did. Fire spurted from it, much more intense than what Daylen could conjure without focus. When the wisps returned, Daylen dispatched them with bolts he fired from the staff, like thrown spears they flew and destroyed the wisps.

'This isn't real is it?' Daylen wondered, looking at the spear.

He thought of the possibilities, that it was the combined will of himself and the spirit, given form as the spirit said. Daylen didn't pretend to understand the rules of the fade. Like the possibility that nothing would affect him if he believed it couldn't. Or he could bend the world to his will if he just believed hard enough. It was a lesson of life, the world could not be changed simply because one wanted it to. Even in the fade, the rules of reality still applied.

'Even in the fade, during the most important moment of my life, I am learning things,' he smiled to himself.

Even in the fade he was tested in terms of his intellect. When he and Mouse encountered a Sloth demon, Daylen faced it with caution, but no fear. He answered the demons riddles, to claim a prize.

"I have seas with no water, coasts with no sand, towns without people and mountains without land, what am I?"

"A map!"

"I am rarely touched, but often held, if you have wit, you'll use me well. What am I?"

"My tongue!"

"Yes, your witty tongue. Final riddle: often I will spin a tale; never will I charge a fee. I'll amuse you an entire eve, but, alas, you won't remember me. What am I?"

"A dream," Daylen whispered the answer.

Mouse with gifted with the power to turn into a bear. The Sloth demon had appeared like a bear, but with numerous quills and spikes across its body. As Mouse marvelled at his own new form, Daylen thought of the riddle. A dream perhaps was something to forget, at least that had been Daylen's case.

'Have I truly turned my back on it though?' Daylen wondered.

Daylen walked into the circle of fire, and raised his spear. The demon of rage appeared, its form as it always appeared to be. But then the form of the beast changed, and Daylen widened his eyes. For a moment it appeared to look like him. Gritting his teeth together, Daylen rushed towards the rage demon. Fire and ice collided, the demon changing its snarling face to Daylen's. Daylen himself pushed the demon back, turning towards Mouse. The bear was savaging the spirits coming out of hiding, trying to aid the stronger rage demon. Claws of fire singed Daylen's back, making him yell out in pain. Daylen gripped his burning back, feeling the pain, feeling what he was told was only as real as his mind made it seem. Everything here was a reaction of will. Not just his will, but their will too, the spirits, the demons, the other mages stuck in the fade.

Slithers of a dark fog ran along Daylen's fingertips, before he turned and blasted the rage demon with a stream of ice. He launched lightning from his staff, following up with a mana bolt from his hand. The rage demon breathed fire from its maw, only for Daylen to create a shield construct. He then shifted the shield construct into a wall and he slammed the wall against the demon. It roared brandishing its claws at Daylen. The demon slammed against Daylen's staff, the fiery nails grinding against the surface of it, sawing into it. Daylen looked to his side, two wisps had gotten through Mouse and reared their mana infused tendrils towards him. He created a blast with his mind, repelling the rage demon. Then he swept his spear around, cutting both wisps apart. With a yell, he thrust the spear forward, piercing the demon and filling it with electricity. True to its name, it cursed and cried out in fury, before it blew apart.

"You did it, you actually did it," Mouse said. "When you came I hoped that you might be able to, but I never really thought any of you were worthy!"

"That demon said that you had 'fed' others to it," Daylen narrowed his eyes at Mouse.

Though he had been thinking about his promise to his grandfather, he still heard the rage demons ranting. He still heard it torment Mouse, and speak of past 'meals'.

"What were their names?" he asked.

"I don't remember their names, I don't even remember my own name. It's the fade, and the templars killing me, like they tried with you," Mouse said.

"So what happens now?"

"You defeated a demon, you completed your test. With time, you will be a master enchanter with no equal. And maybe there's hope in that for someone as small and as...forgotten as me, if you want to help."

"What do you mean?" Daylen asked.

He looked at Mouse cautiously. Everything had seemed too easy, the meeting with Valour, the riddles, the battle with the rage demon.

"That demon," Daylen realised, before Mouse could speak. "That wasn't my test," he said, getting his spear into a ready stance.

"What? Why wouldn't it be? What more could test a mage of your prowess?" Mouse asked.

But when he saw Daylen's eyes never waver, he smirked and rubbed his head.

"You are clever," he said.

"Simple killing is a warrior's job," his voice changed, echoing around Daylen fiercely. "The real dangers of the fade are preconceptions, careless trust...pride," and in a white light Mouse changed, growing bigger, his form of man replaced with that of Pride, towering over Daylen.

"Keep your wits about you mage, true tests never end!"

* * *

That was it, the test was passed. But his life would not pass into the obscurity of the tower. When Daylen awoke he smiled, seeing Jowan looking down at him.

"Are you all right?" his friend asked.

"Unless I'm still in the fade, I'm guessing I passed," Daylen said.

"You have, they took you away in the night, you've been asleep for a whole day, we feared you wouldn't wake up," Jowan explained.

"They sent me for my Harrowing!"

"Everyone said as much, now you'll get to move up to the apprentice quarters," Jowan lowered his head as he spoke.

"You'll join me soon enough," Daylen smiled.

Though it wasn't shared by Jowan.

"I've been here at the circle as long as you have, sometimes I think they just don't want me to pass," he said.

"There's no other alternative!"

"You take your Harrowing, the rite of tranquility, or you die."

"As I said Jowan there is no other option, I'm sure it is just a matter of time," Daylen patted Jowan's shoulder as he spoke.

"What happened during the Harrowing anyway?" Jowan asked.

"You go into the fade and face a demon," Daylen said it simply and truthfully, damning the rules that prevented him from sharing the secret.

Why conceal it was his line of thinking. Let people know what they are facing, let people know the risks. No one should be excluded from the knowledge of danger, not the folk whom lived in huts or tents, nor the lords in houses and castles, or even the mages in their towers. Jowan gulped in fear, but Daylen gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder, confident that his friend, when tested would pass.

"Daylen Amell, the First-Enchanter and the Knight Commander request your presence," said the templar guard.

He was around Daylen and Jowan's age, Cullen was his name. Daylen spoke with him a few times and thought him a good though inexperienced man. He nodded to Cullen in respect and assured Jowan they would discuss more later. On his walk to Irving's office, Daylen heard whispers from the mages and even templars he passed by. They spoke of how he had been the quickest to ever pass their Harrowing, how it had gone by smoothly and without incident. When Daylen arrived at the First-Enchanter's office he found that the two men were engaged in an argument, a Rivaini stranger was also present.

"The Grey wardens have requested enough of us already, Wynn, Uldred, most of the senior mages, we have committed enough of our own to this war effort," Greagoir explained.

"Your own? Since when have you felt such kinship with the mages Greagoir? Or are you afraid to let mages out from Chantry supervision, where they can actually use their maker given powers?" Irving asked.

"How dare you suggest..."

"Gentlemen please," the stranger raised his hands diplomatically. "Irving, someone is here to see you."

"Hello," Daylen said.

"Ah, if it isn't our new brother in the circle, come child," Irving said.

"This is..."the stranger mused, looking at Daylen curiously.

"Yes, this is he," the first Enchanter nodded.

"Well Irving, you're obviously busy, we will discuss this later," Greagoir said.

The Knight-Commander had no patience in his voice, and as he walked out of the office, it was clear there were underlying issues he had with the stranger.

"Daylen, meet Duncan, of the Grey Wardens, you've heard of the war brewing to the south I expect, Duncan is recruiting mages to join the king's army at Ostagar," Irving explained.

"But Grey Wardens don't involve themselves in matters of kings, so it's true darkspawn are moving on the surface," Daylen said.

"And we need all the help we can get, especially from the circle," Duncan said.

Daylen nodded his head, he could see the value mage spells would have on large groups of darkspawn. On any army really.

"I fear if we don't drive them back, there may be another blight," Duncan added.

"Duncan, you worry the poor lad with talk of blights and darkspawn, this is a happy day for him," Irving said.

"We live in troubled times my friend."

"We should seize moments of levity, especially in troubled times," Irving smiled as he looked at Daylen. "The harrowing is behind you, your phylactery was sent to Denerim. You are officially a mage of the circle of magi."

"My leash you mean?" Daylen bitterly asked.

"I'm sorry what is this Phylactery?" Duncan asked.

"When mages first arrive, some of our blood is put into a vial," Daylen said.

"So you can be hunted if you turn apostate," Duncan understood.

"We have few choices, the gift of magic is looked upon with suspicion and fear. We must prove that we are strong enough to handle our power responsibly," Irving explained as he walked to his.

Daylen noticed the piles of books and scrolls on them. Books he recognised as being about, or having references to blood magic. But his gaze was quickly drawn to the robes and staff that Irving picked up. The robes were blue and had yellow patterns on the chest. The skirt covered the waist at the front, whilst the back of it was long enough to cover the back of the legs. There was a belt on top of the robes with the symbol of the circle on it. The staff was a simple red stick with no patterns, it had a bronze tip on the end of it.

"You have done this," Irving said, giving him the staff and the robes. "Here are your robes, and your staff, use them proudly," he slapped Daylen's shoulder, still wearing his smile.

"What will my duties be?" Daylen asked.

"Just rest for now child, study in the library, the day is yours," Irving said.

"I will return to my quarters," Duncan said.

"Yes, I have things to discuss with Greagoir, Daylen, would you show Duncan the way?" Irving asked.

"Yes First-Enchanter, Sir Duncan, follow me," Daylen turned, holding his staff in one hand and the folded robes under his arm pit.

There were guest quarters in the circle, though it wasn't a common thing for a guest to stay. They were reserved for Chantry officials, thus they had the kind of decorations one loyal to the church would appreciate. As they walked towards the library that the room was close to, Daylen got the measure of Duncan. Rivaini, his skin was a tone darker than Daylen's but still close enough for Daylen to understand why people supposed he had that heritage. The man's face was rough, his beard unkempt, and his eyes held a different kind of experience than Irving's. Irving was wise, and book smart, Duncan was worldly and tested. His armour was not the kind that Daylen had heard of the Grey wardens wearing, it didn't mark him as a member of the order. It was built for purpose though, save for the strap across chest. The strap belonged to the scabbard of a short sword on his back. There was also a knife on Duncan's belt, red metal, much like the sword. Over the course of their walk, Daylen also noticed that Duncan was looking at him too.

'So this is the boy Irving spoke so highly of,' the Grey warden thought.

He'd heard many things, including things that the chantry didn't want to leave the tower. Daylen's magic was a kind Duncan had not even see from the warden mages that had been recruited as apostates. Their creation showed originality on Daylen's part, not shared even by those apostates whom deemed the chantry teachings limited. The young man wasn't meek, he wasn't fat or thin, he was tall but not a giant and Duncan guessed that under the right circumstances Daylen would be as good at least physically as some of the best warriors in the Wardens.

"Here you are Duncan," Daylen said as he opened the door for the room.

"Thank you for walking with me, I enjoyed the company," Duncan said.

Daylen opened his mouth to speak, then simply nodded.

"Was there something you wished to say?" Duncan asked.

"I've heard that darkspawn often gather on the surface in small groups, but the only time I've heard of them garnering the attention of kings and armies...is during a blight," Daylen whispered and Duncan nodded his head.

"An Archdemon does lead them, alone the darkspawn are beasts, but under the command of an Archdemon they become coordinated, a horde!"

Daylen gulped, his mouth suddenly feeling dry. It was a sense of fear he didn't feel during the harrowing. But it was strange to him, for him to feel so fearful of something he was so far away from.

'We won't be far away for long, if the darkspawn have their way,' Daylen thought.

"King Cailan has brought an army together alongside the grey wardens, but we still require more recruits. Something to think of before you next see the First-Enchanter," Duncan said, bowing his head partially before he closed the door.

"The fifth blight," Daylen whispered.

Shaking his concerns aside he began making his way back to the mage quarters. He got a few steps before he heard a panting behind him. Daylen turned, shock to see Jowan leaning against the wall, sweat trickling down his face.

"Jowan, what's wrong?" he asked.

"I need your help, and it's about what we discussed earlier," Jowan said.

Daylen widened his eyes, knowing exactly what Jowan was talking about. It was the one thing Jowan feared more than anything, tranquillity.

Consequences damned, he didn't hesitate to help his friend.

Next Chapter 20: Origins part 2

* * *

Hope everyone enjoyed the chapter, next time, the event that changes the course of Daylen's life.


	20. Chapter 20

Disclaimer: I don't own A song of Ice and Fire or Dragon Age.

* * *

House Amell of Westeros

Chapter 20: Origins part 2

Daylen at least looked at his new quarters. In truth, they were no different from the apprentice dorms. Apprentices often told one another stories, of how they could rise through the ranks of the circle and earn more privileges.

'The bucket is at least a little better,' Daylen thought as he finished his business and changed into his robes.

Suddenly, he heard a screaming sound. Picking up his staff, he ran to the cleaning areas. A mage barged past him, pants barely pulled up and embarrassment on his face. Daylen looked to where he had come from and rolled his eyes. Kaaras was stark naked, sitting on the floor and holding his chest as he laughed hysterically. He stood up, proud and smiling as he walked towards Daylen.

"Welcome to your new home Day, though it's a shame I won't be able to use the same trick on you," Kaaras chuckled.

"How do you sleep in the same dorm as him, yet he doesn't know you're a man?" Daylen asked.

"Because I sneak into the women's dorms at night, though I have to pray that Petra doesn't see me," Kaaras said.

Kaaras's resemblance to a woman had become so similar that he could fit into women's robes. His body was thin and delicate, as expected of women (though Daylen had no real expectations of a typical woman's body), even his voice lacked the deep tone of a man. One would mistake him for a woman with a flat chest, and he went to great effort to make his hair look elegant. Kaaras though put on his male robes and shook Daylen's hand.

"Congratulations, what was your sin?" he asked.

"Pride," Daylen said.

"Really? I thought yours would have been rage," Kaaras said, as if disappointed. "Mine was lust," he hummed. "The traditional desire demons are a picture of womanly beauty and decadence, male ones though, it's like they had a child with the Qunari!"

"And now that image is in my head," Daylen huffed as he turned to walk away.

"Is there something wrong Day?" Kaaras asked.

"Do you know that Irving has taken all of the scripture and books on blood magic away?" Daylen inquired and Kaaras nodded his head. "Why would he do that?"

"Come on Day, you know the answer!"

"Someone is dabbling," Daylen said and again Kaaras nodded his head.

Daylen said a thank you to Kaaras and walked out of the dorms. He made his way to the chantry, where Keili was praying. Daylen avoided her, not wanting to get into any kind of debate. She was firmly devoted to the chantry, and wasn't someone whose opinions could be swayed. Not that Daylen cared much for changing her opinion, she believed what she believed, that was that. Sitting in the chantry, Daylen shifted uncomfortably at times, feeling one of the initiates staring at him. Her name was Lily, if Daylen could recall correctly. She was a devotee of the chantry, a true believer. Though she didn't seem to bear mages any ill will, if anything she was polite and friendly to them. Daylen had long accepted that people would stare at him for his eyes, but it didn't mean he was comfortable with it. Another few minutes passed before Jowan came into the room. He walked towards Daylen, and Lily joined him.

"Thank you for coming, we couldn't wait any longer," Jowan said.

"So this is the one who puts up with you when I don't," Daylen grinned, looking between Lily and Jowan.

"Very funny," the dark haired boy muttered dryly.

"How did this happen?"

"Lily and I..." Jowan scratched his cheek nervously, accepting Lily's hand in his.

"We found each other," she said.

"I'm happy for both of you," Daylen said.

Which was true, he knew the dangers and he knew what could happen if this went wrong. Lily and Jowan were hardly the first affair to have begun in the tower. Probably the first chantry initiate and pre-harrowed mage to begin a relationship. Daylen could see though that there was a genuine love between them.

"But we're not telling you for the sake of it, we need your help," Jowan said.

"What's wrong?" Daylen asked.

"You remember when we talked about the Harrowing, how I was saying it seemed like they didn't want me to pass, well it's true. They're planning to make me tranquil," Jowan explained.

"Do you have proof?"

"I saw the authorisation papers, both Greagoir and Irving signed them," Lily said.

"They think I'm a blood mage, they'll take everything from me, my hopes, my dreams, my love for Lily, everything," Jowan said, the emotion and fear in his voice evident.

Daylen put a hand on Jowan's shoulder, both for comfort and to look over it. This wasn't a conversation they should've had in the chantry. That and Jowan wasn't subtle, he wasn't a person who could hide his fear.

"I will do everything I can to help you escape," Daylen said and Jowan smiled, grabbing and hugging his friend.

"Thank you, oh thank you, I knew I could count on you," he said.

"But if you're going to have any chance of living free, you would need to get rid of your Phylactery," Daylen said.

"I know how to get into the basement," Lily said.

"Our problem is that we would need to get past two doors, one is guarded by a password, the other is a lock, it can't be bent or broken..."

"But it could be melted, that's why you came to me isn't it?" Daylen asked.

"You're fire magic is the most powerful in the tower, even better than Irving's," Daylen rolled his eyes and Jowan chuckled. "It's true Day, that magic you showed when Leo was possessed, we need it," he explained.

"I understand, I'm ready to help whenever you need it," Daylen said.

"Thank you, I'll need to gather supplies for the journey, both of you just go about your routine and meet me at the basement door tonight," Lily explained.

Both mages nodded their heads and walked out of the Chantry. Daylen noticed that Jowan was cautious, and smart, this was a plan that needed all three of them to be alert and careful. Jowan however did look at Daylen and nodded to him, mouthing the words thank you again. In the meantime, Daylen did as Lily suggested and went about his routine. He returned to his dorm, made himself seen there and then went to the training hall. Children were being introduced to some of the basics of Chantry life, Daylen noted the clothes on many of them. None had been of nobility, and perhaps were entering the chantry with willing parents. People struggled outside of the Chantry, Daylen had no doubt Jowan and Lily would struggle, especially if they were to have children.

'But if their love is true, they'll make it through these struggles,' Daylen thought.

He took up a few books and began to read. Just because he could recall texts, didn't mean he shouldn't reread what he knew. He revised and ran equations in his head, how best to use spells in unison, ice to brittle, fire to melt, rock to crush. Or just use the vibrations from Earth spells to shatter the door, that was a possibility. A fire rod was another option, but that required getting the signature of a senior mage. Which meant either doing someone a favour or having a research reason for a fire rod. Getting the fire rod might gain unwanted attention. But in the mean time, honing his magic was another option.

Senior Enchanter Leorah was in a bad mood, she held responsibility for the store rooms. They had become infested with spiders. Not the kind that ate flies or put webbing in the corners of your house, but gigantic spiders. These were the kind that could eat rats whole, or people if they succumbed to poison. They made the ideal test dummies for Daylen to practice against. He went into the store room, more like a tunnel really, which was perhaps the reason why it was an ideal breeding ground for the spiders. Daylen walked through the tunnels, keeping his eyes open and ears alert. He raised his staff, ready to assume that every scuffle or tap was a spider. But the point of him being here was not just to clear the stores, but test himself.

Accuracy was what he needed, not just power. When spiders came down from the ceiling, Daylen targeted joints on their legs with mana blasts, blowing off their limbs. With fire he practiced throwing the ball inside of the spider's mouths, the resulting explosion throwing bits of them onto him. One however managed to jump on top of Daylen, knocking his staff out of his hand. He grabbed the spider's pincers, avoiding its dripping poison. The beast was quick and strong, stronger than it looked. Gathering his own strength, Daylen threw the beast off of him and dived for his staff. The spider scuttled towards him, opening its maw again. Daylen thrust his staff through the creature's mouth, filling it with electricity until it lay motionless. Taking a few deep breaths, Daylen hung his head back and leant against the wall. He processed that moment, when he had come an inch from dying.

'What could I have done differently?' he wondered.

He had to learn from every experience. Was there a lesson to be gained from Jowan? Daylen did not yet know, he did not yet even know why the templars suspected him of blood magic. He accepted Leorah's thanks for his help and made his way to the First Enchanter's office.

"Ah Daylen, come, I just received a letter from your mother," Irving smiled.

That put a smile on Daylen's face as well as he walked over to the First Enchanter's desk. The broke Amell seal was on the letter and Daylen spotted what had become the widely accepted 'words' of the family in Westeros. Not through any declaration of the family itself, rather something other nobility and even the common folk in Westeros said, some out of respect and others out of contempt.

 _'Actions speak louder than words'_

Daylen took the letter and put it in his pocket. He would read it later, but wanted to focus on Irving for now. His hand briefly touched the scriptures on the man's desk.

"Are things as bad as they seem in Ostagar?" Daylen asked.

"We receive the occasional report, but that isn't what you are here for is it child, come do not attempt to clumsily start a conversation, what troubles you?" Irving asked.

"When will Jowan take his Harrowing?"

Irving stood silent for a moment, nodding his head as if he had expected Daylen to ask him such a question.

"One can only take the Harrowing when they are ready, when it is clear they possess the strength to not just fight a demon, but resist temptation too. A mage must have not only a level of power, but character as well, that is why Surana, bless her soul took her Harrowing before you," he explained.

"And why do you think Jowan isn't ready? He is a good mage, and yes he may be fearful, but fear and caution can sometimes give you an edge, only a fool remains completely confident and absent of fear," Daylen explained.

"Tell me, what has brought this concern on for Jowan?" Irving asked.

"He thinks you're going to make him Tranquil," Daylen straight up said it, cursing himself inwardly.

Irving seemed to smirk when Daylen told him, again as if he knew more than Daylen believed.

"And how would he have come to suck knowledge I wonder, could it be the initiate he dallies about with?" Irving chuckled at Daylen's shocked expression. "My boy, I did not become First Enchanter by keeping my eyes closed."

"It's true then, you do intend to make him tranquil," Daylen said, stepping back and leaning on the desk for support.

It was unacceptable to him, but clearly something that Irving had decided upon long ago.

"On what basis do you make this decision?" Daylen demanded.

"Eye witness testimony that Jowan has engaged in blood magic."

Daylen slammed his fist into the desk and stepped up to Irving.

"Then why didn't you make me tranquil the day I arrived at the tower, I was a blood mage too!" he said.

"You were a child, unaware of the risks or the danger, you had no knowledge that such a thing was unlawful or came with consequences. Jowan is nearly a man, he has studied diligently, he knew the danger and the consequences and he did it anyway," Irving explained.

"Using blood magic requires you to look into the eyes of a demon," Daylen said, stepping away from Irving and putting a more respectful tone into his voice. But it was not a tone that Daylen could keep as he looked up at Irving, "Leo and I both did that, and when the demon looked back at us, he blinked!"

"There are other more subtle demons at play Daylen, and it matters little if Jowan was possessed or not, he knew the danger and he did it anyway," Irving said.

"Maybe he just dabbled, and learnt his lesson from one usage, it doesn't mean he would lack the strength to resist a demon's temptations if he is just put to the test. Do not judge him, test him, if he passes the Harrowing then you were wrong, if he fails then you kill him and were right," Daylen explained.

"You would condemn Jowan to death?" Irving asked.

"I would give him a chance to fight against a fate he fears worse than death. It's easy for someone whose never had a dream to judge!"

"I have had dreams," Irving said, his voice fierce, gaze even more so as Daylen flinched in surprise. "We are all human, we all feel Daylen, and we have all had dreams...but such is the reality we face," he explained.

Daylen stepped away, looking at the ground, his fists shaking in fury.

"A decision has already been made, I hope you will come to understand one day Daylen, now please, read the letter from your family, you will need to be with..."

"You know this is wrong, that's all I have left to say to you First Enchanter," Daylen snarled.

"Daylen wait the letter..."

"Is from my family Irving, stop pretending you're my father," Daylen snapped.

He was too angry to care for the hurt look across Irving's face. As Daylen walked out of his office, Irving leant against the desk and rubbed his eyes. Letting out a deep sigh, he collapsed onto his desk.

"Oh my boy, you shouldn't be alone right now," he said.

"Irving," Duncan whispered from the doorway.

"I am sorry Duncan, I am in no condition to speak about Ostagar at the moment," Irving said.

"I saw Daylen leave, he seemed angry, I am sorry old friend but we must speak concerning recruits. There is one in the tower I would take with me to Ostagar," Duncan said.

Irving immediately stood up and slammed his hands into the desk.

"No, I deny your request," he said.

"Irving, we both know that out of all the mages in the tower, he could prove the most affective in fighting the darkspawn," Duncan explained.

"He has not long passed his Harrowing, he's not ready for such a thing. This is not a debate Duncan, I would not have him destroy himself joining your order and its lonely, thankless calling," Irving explained.

"Very well Irving, but know that I have not yet asked him what he thinks of such a thing. And that I still possess the right of conscription," Duncan said as he walked away from Irving.

'My boy, please do not do anything rash,' Irving thought, sitting back down and wallowing in the despair of what he knew would inevitably happen.

* * *

Daylen sat on his bed, using a damp cloth to wipe away the spider guts on his body. He picked up the letter and began to read it.

 _Beloved son_

 _I hope you are in good health when this letter reaches you, and amongst friends._

 _In the days since the royal family visited our lands, we have been faced with obstacles both personal and those expected of our duty. My arm has healed, and I do what I can as an advisor and teacher for the children of the meadow. Every few months I receive an invitation from Queen Cersei, to join her in Kings landing. As your brothers, sister and cousin become more independent I consider accepting the offer, safe for my concerns for Dayk._

 _He is a strong and dependable lad in many ways. But not dependable in others, he is prone to spite and quite lustful. He has had affairs with many a woman in the Meadow. Though he considers marriage, so hopefully he has mellowed. Aristanna's music has grown much finer and she considers travelling. Revion has grown strong and wise and spends more time home now, of that I am glad. Dayla has become an accomplished fighter, she has her own militia now. Bandits had gathered in the Meadow, and she has put them down many a time. Dayla has even gone to the Eerie and assisted the knights of the Vale in fighting the hill tribes. She's living true to herself._

 _I am afraid father has taken ill of late. There have been days where he has shown his old strength, and days where he has slept and not wanted to do anything. Then there are the days that become more frequent, the days he remembers appointments long past, where he struggles at times to remember that he has eaten or bathed. There have even been times when he has spoken or yelled at people who aren't there. Your grandfather is far from mad, he is just ill and tired. And regretful too, I hear him often say the names of those he has lost, your uncle Damion, even Aerys and Rhaella. He misses them, as he misses you my son._

 _We all miss you, but we know why you must stay in Ferelden. Please be well, I send this letter prematurely, not knowing but assuming, congratulations on your Harrowing._

 _With love always_

 _Your mother_

Daylen lowered his head as he put the letter into his pocket. Sitting on the bed, Daylen thought of his ill grandfather and the long life he had lived. He had always appeared to be happy, but Daylen knew that he had regrets. One regret was not doing all that he could to help Aerys. In some ways, the old man perhaps felt that he could have prevented much of the bloodshed in Westeros. It was illogical, there were many other factors at play, perhaps even a little narcissistic to believe he could have made all the difference. But it was the kind of man Fausten Amell became, the kind of man Daylen was.

'If I live to be as old as you grandfather, I do not wish to live with the regret of knowing I did not make the choice that helped my friend. It may be the wrong thing to do, it may even get me killed, but I'll face my decision without regret,' he thought.

He put on his robes and picked up his staff, giving it a twirl before sliding it through his belt. Daylen made his way to the basement, as they had agreed upon. Lily and Jowan were both waiting, the former holding a bag on her shoulder, no doubt bread and water they would need for the journey ahead of them.

"Thank the Maker you've come," Lily said.

"I told you Daylen wouldn't let us down," Jowan said, slapping Daylen's shoulder as he spoke.

"Let's get this over with, so you can be free of this place," Daylen said.

He walked in front of Jowan and Lily, opening the doors to the basement. The walls were silver and grey within the basement, the corridors narrow but still decorated with chantry imagery. It wasn't a long walk to the door.

"All right, what do we need to do?" Daylen asked.

"The doors can only be opened by a templar and a mage together, the chantry provides the password, which primes the ward, and the mage touches it with mana to release it," Lily explained.

"Do you know the password?"

"Yes I recently got it from a templar who accompanied a mage into the vault."

"Does he know you have it?" Daylen showed a particular urgency in that question.

"Yes, but he trusts me, and he knows nothing of Jowan and I," Lily said.

"Irving knows about you and Jowan."

"He does?" Jowan asked.

"Irving's no fool, there's a reason he's first enchanter beyond loyalty to the circle or his power," Daylen said.

"I will speak the password, I just need one of you to use a spell on the door, any will do," Lily said.

Daylen and Jowan both nodded their heads as Lily placed her hand on the door.

"Sword of the maker, tears of the fade," she whispered.

A sound emanated from the door, as if a key had been put into its hole. Jowan then placed his hand on the door, closing his eyes as he easily put a flow of mana into the door. It glowed and then there was a click, a lock unlocking. Then the door swung open.

"So far so good," Jowan muttered.

"Like I said Irving's no fool, and neither is Greagoir, I find it hard to believe that there are just two doors blocking our way," Daylen said.

"Well here's the next one, use your magic," Lily said.

Daylen took his staff off of his back and took a deep breath. He pointed it at the lock and closed his eyes, thinking of everything he felt when he fought Leo. The desperation, the anger and the power, it all came back to him as he felt his mana surge and then, nothing!

"Oh no," Daylen said.

"What is it?" Lily whispered.

"Something's wrong Lily, I can't feel my magic when I'm around this door," Jowan said.

"The wards, oh Daylen you were right, how could I have been so foolish as to believe that the Knight-Commander and First-Enchanter would leave the vault protected by such simple locks. These are templar wards you see, designed to negate magic," Lily explained.

Daylen stepped away from the door and looked down the other corridor. There was another door, and from the distance Daylen could see it didn't have the same markings as the vault door.

"What about that one, there might be another way into the vault through there," he suggested.

"At this point I'm willing to try anything," Jowan said.

They walked to the other door, where Daylen put his staff against the lock. He passed a flame through it, surgically melting the lock with blue fire. As he and Jowan pulled the door open, wards above the door began to glow. On the other side of the door was an L shaped corridor, and numerous doors on the side. But there was also several suits of armour placed against the walls. The eyes slits on the helmets began to glow, and slowly they moved off of the wall. Chantry sentinels, in heavy chainmail armour, armed with shields and swords. Daylen kept his staff at the ready as Jowan's fingers glowed.

 _(Soul Calibur 6 OST-Character Select)_

"You're fighting too?" Daylen asked.

"What you didn't think I was going to let you do all the work?" Jowan asked.

"Now he decides to do some work!"

"Very funny!"

Daylen broke off into a run as Jowan threw his hands forward. He threw a rock fist, smashing a Sentinel against the wall and breaking its armour apart. Daylen blocked the sword swipe of a Sentinel, dodged its shield and hit its legs with his staff. He followed through on the strike, passing mana through the tip of his staff and slamming it into the Sentinel's back, destroying the wisp inside it. Jowan was about to yell out a warning to his friend, when Daylen suddenly slid his staff over his shoulder, and through the eye slit of another Sentinel. He passed entropy magic through the suit, turning it into a human bomb. As the pieces of the sentinel's armour fell to the floor, Daylen grabbed the sentinel's sword. He held it to his forehead and charged the blade with mana, forging a mana sword.

"Let's move forward," he said.

Jowan clumsily caught Daylen's staff and nodded his head, his eyes determined and path set. They rushed down the corridor, Daylen slashing with his sword and Jowan shooting projectiles through the staff. Daylen ducked as Jowan created a cloud of ice, freezing a suit of armour in place. The mana sword grew in its length and Daylen charged it with ice, creating a hammer he used to shatter the ice statue. When the ice shattered, Daylen grit his teeth together, charging his sword with flames. There were two more sentinels guarding the door. Jowan threw a fireball forward, creating an explosion that knocked back the shields of the sentinels. Daylen then jumped, swinging his sword in a long arc and sending three balls of magma, Earth and fire mixed together, flying towards the sentinels. The grand explosion tore them both apart, leaving their armour as scorched pieces on the blackened ground.

 _(End OST)_

Jowan threw Daylen his staff, and both let out deep breaths as Daylen dropped his sword. Lily looked at them in shock, not awe but shock.

"Such power, there is a reason the chantry teaches us to fear magic," she said.

"And I'm wiping my hands of it, I would rather be a farmer," Jowan said.

"Your dream," Daylen shook his head and sighed as he opened the door to the repository.

It was a square shaped chamber filled with many different artefacts. Daylen suspected they had been the property of apostates, or taken from Tevinter or Elvish temples.

"We can't all have grand dreams Day," Jowan said.

"To live in peace, is a good dream," Daylen nodded his head as he spoke.

"What is your dream Daylen?" Lily asked.

"Day wants to be a hero."

"Right now, I'll settle for the two of you living free of this place," Daylen said and Lily touched her heart as Jowan smiled.

The young man mouthed 'thank you' to Daylen as they moved through the repository, looking for anything that could help them. They came upon a statue, Daylen couldn't tell if it was a woman or a man, over the years any distinctive markings on it had faded. It was carrying a staff, or a spear, the tip of it had been snapped off, so one couldn't tell.

"There's something odd about that statue," Jowan said.

Daylen took a closer look at it, Jowan was right, something did feel odd about it.

"It's as if you can hear a heartbeat coming from it, but not from your ears," Daylen said.

"Yes I'd have to agree with you on tha..."

"Greetings!"

"Maker's breath did it just say something?" Jowan asked.

It had been a woman's voice, distant and far off, echoing within their minds. Daylen kept his staff at the ready, cautious that this was more than just some speaking statue.

"I am the essence and spirit of Eleni Zinovia, once consort and advisor to Archon Valerius. Prophecy my crime, cursed to stone for foretelling the fall of my lords house," the statue explained.

Daylen remembered reading about Zinovia, a beauty and lover of Valerius and mother of Archon Hessarian. A ruler whom would be the first noted convert to the chant of light, after he had ordered the execution of Andraste through fire, but ultimately showed her mercy. From there, Tevinter as it was began to fall, leading some credence to Zinovia's predictions.

"'Forever shall you stand on the threshold of my proud fortress', he said, 'and tell your lies to all who pass.' But my lord found death at the hands of his enemies, and his once proud fortress crumbled to dust, as I foretold," the statue explained.

"A Tevinter statue! Don't listen to it, the Tevinter dabbled in many forbidden arts, this is a wicked thing!" Lily said.

"Only from our point of view Lily, the Tevinter magisters performed magics that we only now today consider forbidden, how did it get here anyway?" Daylen asked.

"It must have been here for years, look at the dust, I feel a little sorry for it...her," Jowan said.

"Weep not for me, child. Stone they made me and stone I am, eternal and unfeeling. And I shall endure 'til the Maker returns to light their fires again," the statue said.

"What does that mean?" Daylen asked.

"Ambiguous rubbish, it could mean anything," Jowan said. "I can do it too, 'the sun grows dark but lo here comes the dawn'!"

Daylen chuckled and turned away from the statue.

"The prison is breached, I see the encroaching darkness, the shadow will consume all," its last words made Daylen stop for a moment.

He looked at the statue, expecting it to speak again. But when it said nothing, he shrugged and moved on.

"Over here Day, I think I found something that can help us," Jowan said.

Daylen slid his staff through his belt and looked at the dog statue Jowan had pointed out. From what he remembered, the dog was a Mabari, a breed that originated in Tevinter.

"Why are these so many Tevinter artefacts here?" Daylen asked.

"I don't know, maybe this is just one of many places the Chantry stores Tevinter Artefacts. They were an empire spread across Thedas after all. But this, this is an artefact they used to focus and enhance their power and look at where it's facing," Jowan explained, indicating the dog's maw aimed at the wall.

Daylen grinned, sharing Jowan's idea. They both recognised that the path they had taken ran adjacent to the vault. In theory, the wall would lead to the inside of the vault itself. Daylen placed his hand on the Mabari's head and focused his magic. The feelings he felt when he fought Leo, fear, rage, determination, he let those feelings and his magic flow through the statue. Red markings glowed on the statue as fire formed on the inside of its mouth. Suddenly, a fireball flew into the wall, creating an explosion that smashed open the wall.

"Brilliant," Jowan said.

The trio walked through the ruined wall, and into their intended destination. They gasped in awe, seeing rows of bottles, filled with blood. Some were on tables, others were on stacks on the wall, some reaching as high as the ceiling.

"Incredible, but this can't be all of the phylacteries," Jowan said.

"The rooms small in comparison to the amount of mages in the tower, it could just be for the apprentices, Irving did say that mine was taken to Denerim," Daylen explained.

"I was told as such too, there have been debates about that within the chantry actually, some say that mages who pass their harrowing should have their phylactery's kept at the tower, so that the templars can immediately respond when they escape," Lily explained.

"So you could escape with us Daylen, and slip away, you'd have plenty of time considering the tower has to send a messenger to Denerim," Jowan said, his voice optimistic as he patted Daylen's shoulder.

"Honestly I wouldn't know what to do," Daylen lowered his head, then began looking at the rows of bottles.

"Wouldn't know what to do? Daylen, you could go to Westeros, be with your family and the templars would never dare follow you. You could see your mother and siblings, and your grandfather again," Jowan explained.

"My grandfather...mother tried to word it differently but I could tell, he's dying," Daylen said.

"I'm sorry Day!"

"Mother would welcome me, but my brothers and sister, I don't know what my mother says about me, I know for sure that at least one of them hates me. I don't know if I'd be welcome there," Daylen explained.

"They're your family Daylen, if they're like you, then they'll welcome you. You'd be a lord, and I would be a farmer."

"I would live in a land of snakes and backstabbers, and you would live free off of the fat of the land," Daylen smiled.

"You two, come quickly, I've found it," Lily said.

Lily had climbed one of the ladders, and was holding a bottle. They were all tagged, and when Jowan and Daylen got to her they saw it had Jowan's name on it. Jowan took the bottle and held it out, gazing at it.

"I can't believe this tiny vial stands between me and freedom," he said. "So fragile, so easy to be rid of it...to end its hold over me," he dropped it, shattering the glass and imbedding the blood into the floor. "And I am free," he whispered.

"We should not linger here," Lily said.

The trio walked out of the vault, through the door they originally intended to take. No Sentinels waited for them, no symbols glowed above them. They walked out of the basement.

"We did it, I can't believe it, thank you," Jowan said. "We could never have..."

"So what you said is true Irving!"

Greagoir, Irving and several other templars walked towards them. Jowan and Lily's once hopeful expressions fell as the group approached them.

"Greagoir," Lily said, her eyes filled with fear.

"An initiate, conspiring with a blood mage, I'm disappointment Lily," Greagoir said. "She seems shocked, but fully in control of her own mind. Not a thrall of the blood mage then."

Greagoir turned away from them, walking to Irving's side.

"You were right Irving, the initiate has betrayed us, the chantry will not let this go unpunished," he said, then looked towards Daylen. "And this one," there was contempt in his voice, not disappointment. "Newly a mage, and already flouting the rules of the circle."

"I'm disappointed in you, you could have told me you knew of this plan, and you didn't," Irving said.

Daylen squeezed his hand into a fist, gritting his teeth together in anger.

"You don't care for the mages, you just bow to the chantry's every whim," Jowan suddenly said.

"Enough," Greagoir said. "As knight-commander of the templars here assembled, I sentence this blood mage to death. And the initiate has scorned the chantry and her vows, take her to Aeonar!"

"Aeonar," Lily gasped. "The mage prison, no please, not there," she said as the templars approached her.

Jowan looked back at Lily, seeing the fear in her eyes as the templars approached.

"No, I won't let you touch her," he said.

He pulled from his robes a piece of wood, sharpened into a type of make shift knife. Stabbing it into his hand, Jowan drew blood from it and the air grew thick. Daylen remembered the way Leo's blood shifted, and saw a similar effect with Jowan. But it formed no complex shapes, he simply threw his hands forward, the blood boiling and changing into electricity. It was a blast that threw the templars, Greagoir and Irving back. Lily looked at Jowan in horror, stepping back towards the wall.

"By the maker, blood magic, how could you, you said you never," Lily shook her head as she spoke.

"I admit I...I dabbled, I thought it would make me a better mage," Jowan said.

"Blood magic is evil Jowan, it corrupts people...changes them," she looked at Daylen as she spoke, and he narrowed his eyes.

All this time she'd hidden a fear of him. She was just like the others, casting judgement on him. Now she was casting judgement on Jowan.

"I'm going to give it up, all magic," he said, taking a few steps towards Lily. "I just want to be with you Lily please, please come with me."

"I trusted you," she continued, stumbling away from Jowan in fear. "I was ready to sacrifice everything for you...I don't know you are blood mage, stay away from me," she seethed, glaring at Jowan.

He stepped back, his eyes filled with despair and rejection. Jowan suddenly ran, as fast as he could. Daylen watched him run until he was gone, then checked on the people hit by Jowan's blast. First he checked Irving.

"Are you all right Daylen? Where's Greagoir?" Irving asked.

Daylen lowered his head, partly ashamed of himself. Even disappointed, Irving's first thoughts on waking up were of him. Greagoir and the other templars rose, shaking their heads and regaining their consciousnesses.

"I knew it...blood magic," Greagoir said. "But to overcome so many, I never thought him capable of such power."

"None of us expected this, are you all right Greagoir?" Irving asked.

"As good as can be expected considering the circumstances. If you had let me act sooner, this would not have happened. Now we have a blood mage on the loose and no way to track him down," Greagoir explained.

"You'll never find him," Daylen said.

"Oh we'll use every resource we have," Greagoir turned to Daylen as he spoke, both he and the First-Enchanter. "Where is the girl?" he suddenly looked towards Lily, stuck against the wall, hugging her arms in fear. "You helped a blood mage, look at all he's hurt."

"Knight-Commander...I was wrong, I was accomplice to...a blood mage," Lily said. "I will accept whatever punishment you deem fit, even...even Aeonar."

"Get her out of my sight," Greagoir said, and just like that Lily was dragged away. "And you," he turned to Daylen. "You know why the repository exits. Some artefacts, some magics are locked away for a reason."

"Did you take anything important from the repository?" Irving asked.

"There was nothing I wanted there," Daylen said, smirking slightly.

"Your antics have made a mockery of this circle, what are we to do with you?" Greagoir wondered out loud. "You aided a blood mage, all of our prevention measures, for nought, because of you!"

Footsteps echoed through the hall. They turned to Duncan, who walked towards them, his eyes on Daylen for a moment.

"Knight-Commander if I may...I am not only recruiting mages to join the king's army, I am also recruiting for the grey wardens," Duncan explained. "Irving spoke highly of this mage, and I would like for him to join the warden ranks."

"Duncan, this mage has assisted a maleficar, and shown a lack of regard for the circle's rules," Irving said.

"And I would do it again," Daylen said, earning a frown from Greagoir and a sigh from Irving.

"He is a danger to all of us," the Knight-Commander said.

"It is a rare person who risks all for a friend in need. I stand by my decision, I will recruit this mage," Duncan said, Daylen could swear he heard pride in the man's voice.

"No, I refuse to let this go unpunished," Greagoir said.

"If the grey wardens will have me I will go, there's nothing else for me here," Daylen said.

Again a hurt expression crossed Irving's face. He looked like he wanted to say more, but let Duncan speak instead.

"Greagoir, mages are needed, this mage is needed. Worse things plague this world than blood mages, you know that. I take this young mage under my wing, and bear all responsibility for his actions," Duncan explained.

"A blood mage escapes and his accomplice is not only unpunished, but is rewarded by becoming a grey warden," Greagoir shook his head. "Are our rules for nothing! Have we lost all authority over our mages, this does not bode well Irving!"

"Enough, we have no more say in this matter," Irving said, lowering his head in defeat.

"That's it, I'm no longer bound by the circle?" Daylen asked.

"Your path is your own to carve out," Duncan said.

Daylen nodded his head, and a strange feeling filled his chest. He felt as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. As if he had been wearing shackles, and was now free.

"Come," Duncan motioned for Daylen to follow.

"Your new life awaits!"

Next Chapter 21: A new path

* * *

Daylen's true story finally begins, next chapter he sets off to Ostagar, and a new era begins in the Meadow.


	21. Chapter 21

Disclaimer: I don't own A song of Ice and Fire or Dragon Age

* * *

Game of Dragons

King's landing was alight with joy and activity. People were celebrating the glorious union of their favourite families. Hand of the king, Fausten Amell leant against his cane as the Septon linked the hands of Rhaenys Targaryen and Revion Amell. Beside him, Aerys actually had tears in his eyes.

"Finally, our family is now one," the former king said.

It had been years since Aerys abdicated to Rhaegar and the 'Glorious Age' began. Rhaegar proved to be a great king, whom united the realm in a way Aerys never had. No longer did the Targaryens need dragons. Through trust in the people, they had created their ideal world. Fausten slapped Aerys's back, smiling at him as he chuckled like they did as children. He took a deep breath and sniffed.

"You're crying too," Aerys said.

"Well you started it old friend," Fausten chuckled.

The nobility applauded as Rhaenys and Revion kissed. Fausten walked to the entrance of the Septon and breathed out a sigh of relief. Everything was as it should be.

"Old man," a voice spoke behind him.

He turned and saw a young man in a black coat. The man removed his hood, revealing the tanned skin, brown hair and blue eyes of his first grandchild.

"Daylen, how is Daenerys?" Fausten asked.

Daylen pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head.

"Wake up old man," he said, walking past Fausten.

"Daylen what's wrong?" Daylen turned and widened his eyes in shock.

The boy's clothes had suddenly changed into a blue robe.

"You can't have this grandfather, remember where I am, where all of us are!"

Fausten screamed as he woke up, punching and swiping at the air. His sleeping had gotten rougher, but the dreams were also more frequent now. Dreams of wishes unfulfilled, or worlds that he wished he could live in. Then came the unpleasant smell, and two embarrassing realisations. First he had urinated on his bed, and second, he had become very old. His back ached as he got up, knees quivered, hands shaking as he reached his cane.

"You were strong once old friend, what happened?"

He looked across his bedroom and saw on the balcony as bright as the sun, as young as they had once been. His old friend, Aerys!

"How could you allow yourself to become this?" the ghost asked.

* * *

House Amell of Westeros

Chapter 21: A new path

The lord of the Meadow screamed, his cane clattering to the floor. When the staff had picked him up and helped him to bath, Fausten dismissed them as he dressed himself. By the time he was done, breakfast had long passed and the guests had begun to arrive. For the next few days, the Amell family would support the Greenwards. Formerly lords of the Meadow, when the royal decree came out, the Amells became their liege lords, depriving the Greenwards of what they had worked hard to achieve. There was little love between the two families. One part of it believed that the Amells had ridden at first the friendship that Fausten shared with Aerys, and then betrayed that friendship and stole from the rightful rulers of Westeros. Their lord, Richard, was a bitter man, but a man who knew how to keep his bitterness in check. His brother Henry however wasn't so smart, Fausten foresaw Richard's mirror causing problems. Whilst Richard was tall, had kept himself fit and healthy, Henry was the opposite. Apparently he had been a jouster in his youth, but sloth had over ridden him, and cost him quite a bond with his wife. Though she was nothing more than a minor Meadow heiress, much younger than Henry and equally as disinterested in him.

For in the woods of the Meadow, Amelia Bellfry-Greenward was screaming more for Dayk than she did for her husband. She hung her head back as Dayk kissed her neck, with the same tenderness he did his other lovers. He always treated them exactly the same way, kissing them as if they were the woman he loved. And if they wished it, he held them as they regained their bearings. Amelia smiled as Dayk stroked her black hair and kissed her forehead. She pushed him onto the dirt and rested on his chest for a moment. Then the time came for the fleeting moment to pass, for that was all it was, a moment to never be pursued again.

"Should we wait a moment, before going back?" she asked as he began to dress.

"No, you should return as soon as you can, Marcus will help you get back," Dayk said, slipping on his grey coat.

Amelia stood, tip toeing across the dirt before she played with the buttons of Dayk's coat.

"My husband is baron you know, he's tried time and time again, but still I am without child. Thirty years separates us, but you and I, only three," she kissed at Dayk's mouth, trying to entice him again.

"I see what you are suggesting," Dayk said.

He turned away from Amelia, leaving her confused as he did the buttons on his coat up. Slipping his feet into his boots, he fixed his hair and put on his black gloves.

"It would benefit our houses, my father would not be against annulling the marriage."

Dayk produced a small pouch from his pocket, giving it to Amelia.

"Take this, it's a medicine from Thedas, it'll keep my seed from taking root," he said.

Amelia looked at the twigs and then at Dayk. There was no warmth or emotion in his eyes. He simply stood there, waiting expectedly for her to follow his command. A command he had given to many lovers. Dayk had only one bastard, he would not have anymore.

"Marcus will escort you back," he said over his shoulder, walking into the woods.

After he had deflowered Carla, the Freys had come to the Meadow and demanded some sort of compensation from the Amells and the Sunflares. In Lord Frey's eyes, Carla was unfit to be a wife, or so the Frey messengers had made it clear. Dayk had said nothing, suggested nothing, it was Fausten whom claimed that the marriage of Carla and the Frey would be annulled. Carla was with a child, a child she would not part with. One of the Freys (their names always escaped Dayk's memory and care) stated:

"The Amells have a love for bastards don't they? Even the ones far away in their 'mage schools' is that what they are called now?"

His words had made the other Frey men laugh. But Fausten had not been amused.

"Do not make allegations like that in my house, and do not speak of the girl as if she has no worth. You have not lost nor gained anything from this incident, now tell your father that if he still wants to marry all of his children then he should just stop FUCKING FOR A WHILE!" the man yelled.

Fausten's fury was enough to drive them away. But it would not go unpunished. No one would marry Carla, and in time, Carla was thrown from her house in favour of her younger sisters. She was not willing to cast her son onto the streets either, thus Fausten took her in as a ward, provided her coin and housing and a tutor for her son. Bryan was that sort of tutor. Dayk watched the boy practice with wooden swords against the skilled knight, whom veined wounds as part of a game. Carla and her boy lived in a house at a clearing in the woods, and Dayk often visited.

'He's growing big fast, as all of us do,' he thought of his son.

His son, it always felt strange to know that. He did not consider him some accident, but truly his son. But he could not raise the boy.

'I cannot be a father, he'll become a better person than I, if I have no place in his life,' that was the logic that Dayk followed.

He rode back to the castle, where Richard Greenward stood alongside his daughter Selene. She stood with the grace and respect that was expected of most women in Westeros. Her face was stoic, not unattractive, but Dayk would not have described the flame haired woman as a great beauty. Richard watched a few of the Amell squires fire arrows into targets, practicing for a tournament the Greenward's planned to hold next month. Fausten came out of the gate, dressed respectfully, which was a rare thing these days. He often wore simple robes or just paraded around the castle in his under clothes. Dayk saw in his grandfather a rare instance in which he wasn't troubled.

"Dayk, finally, where have you been?" Fausten asked.

"I had a ride through the woods," Dayk said, he couldn't help the curve of his lip as he spoke.

Fausten bowed his head to Richard, who returned the gesture. Dayk did so too, but received no such gesture from either Fausten or Selene.

"We have come to discuss the terms of Selene's marriage to your grandson," Richard said.

"Indeed, come inside and we'll do just that," Fausten smiled.

There was hesitance in Fausten's voice, as if he had struggled to remember what the meeting was about. Dayk shook his head, his grandfather wasn't qualified to make such arrangements and his mother didn't have it in her. He had no desire to marry the girl, and he would make his feelings clear at this meeting. When they got into the hall however, Revion was sat there.

"Brother, you are back?" Dayk asked.

"For a lot longer this time I promise you," he said.

"What exactly is this arrangement?"

"I see only one of your grandson's pays attention to the Meadow's politics," Richard said.

"Come sit, Dayk, it isn't necessary for you to be here, but you may sit if you wish to learn a few things," Revion explained.

Dayk sat next to his brother as the Greenwards sat opposite them.

"The Amells will provide a dowry of two hundred Sovereigns, for lord Henry's investments in Thedas, as well as the services of our dwarven craftsmen to repair the lodgings in the Greenward territories," Revion explained.

"A generous offer, but I must wonder Revion, why Selene?" Richard asked.

"Your daughter is one of the most intelligent women in the Meadow, if not smarter than any of the ladies in Westeros. She and I spoke often when I visited you my lord, she will no doubt make a brilliant Lady of the Meadow, and I believe considering the bad blood between our families, it is time we put aside the past and joined together," Revion explained.

"For many years, my family ruled over the Meadow, until Aerys promised the land to you. I will not pretend that that didn't injure the pride and honour of my family, but neither will I pretend that the Meadow hasn't prospered under your rule. I am no fool, to wish for something I would not be able to improve upon," Richard explained.

"I wish to know what Lady Selene thinks of this," Fausten said.

The four men looked towards Selene, whom remained calm as she spoke.

"I will serve my father, the people of the Meadow, and if you will it, my husband," she said.

Revion smiled as he nodded his head.

"Then it is agreed, you will marry my daughter," Richard said.

The word was given, and even a contract signed. Richard placed his seal on it, a garden of black flowers, matching the buckle Selene wore. Over the next few days, the Greenwards stayed and celebrated the new union. When a feast began, Fausten walked outside the castle grounds and breathed in the fresh air.

"It may not be to the family you wish my friend, but they will make a fine coupling," Aerys, or the image of the young Aerys said.

"Why are you here?" Fausten asked, rubbing his eyes in an attempt to wipe away the ghost.

"I wanted to see what you had done with the Meadow, and you haven't disappointed. You were a far better leader than Richard's father and grandfather were, I always wanted to give the Meadow away. But there was no real strategic value to it, it was on the way to most places but people could avoid it. Perhaps the greatest thing it had was its ruins in the forest, the history behind it," Aerys explained.

"Yes, a place where the races truly joined together," Fausten said, looking off into the distance.

"Father!" Revka called out to Fausten.

He turned and smiled as his daughter approached. Despite the loss of her hand, she was stronger than ever.

"More guests are arriving," she said.

"They have come for the lord of the Meadow, and let us face it my dear, I'm not capable of being that anymore," Fausten said.

"Oh father," Revka rested her head on Fausten's shoulder.

They sat and watched the sun set, wanting Damion to be with them. Fausten however saw his son with them, perhaps in spirit, or perhaps a result of his aged mind. Whatever it was, it comforted Fausten to see his smile again. Revka too smiled, feeling like a child again just sitting with her father and enjoying the moment. It was peace, whatever political troubles were going on in the capital, they were at peace.

* * *

Revion looked down at his mother and grandfather from his bedroom window. He had decided to retire early, wishing to get some sleep after his months of travel. That and he wanted to be away from the revelry, to focus on his plans for the Meadow, and the many other plans he had accumulated over the years. He walked over to his desk, touching Balmung. The blade of a legendary dragon slayer, though if the world was an ideal place, it would not see combat. A knock came at his door as he removed his boots. Revion passed the distance and opened it. Waiting on the other side was Selene, standing with the poise and elegance expected of the ideal lady.

"Lord Revion, may I speak with you for a moment?" she asked.

"Of course Lady Selene, please come in," he said.

She stepped inside, and as soon as the door shut a sudden change gripped the Greenward heiress. Grabbing the collar of Revion's shirt, Selene pushed him against the door, stood on her toes and kissed him. His eyes were wide in shock at first, but Revion quickly wrapped his arms around the shorter woman and caressed her lips with his. She snaked her arms around his neck, moaning in bliss from the embrace. Their lips slowly separated and they both smiled.

"I have wanted to do that since I crossed the border," she said.

"We should stop, it isn't the right time for this," Revion said.

"Soon though, soon nothing will stop us," Selene whispered, kissing Revion's cheek.

He kissed her forehead and took a few steps back. Again his eyes fell on Balmung, he put a hand to his chin and looked at the map of the known world.

"The Northern lands beyond the wall, where ice covers all. Westeros, home of a game of thrones, a game shared by Orlais, a failing empire. A fate already achieved by the Tevinter Imperium, the seat of power for mages and where chains are forged. Chains that in the lands of Essos, bind those without the strength to resist the monsters of that region. The Free Marches, whom broke those chains, yet remain a divided region, bound only by their shared freedom. Ferelden, a place that values its freedom. Each one of these regions has some sort of fundamental ideal behind it, and a sad truth," Revion explained.

"That is what you discovered isn't it my love?" Selene asked.

"There's still more for me to learn, but for now, I will do as my family name dictates and rule, with you by my side," Revion turned to Selene as he spoke. "Not as a symbol, not as a tool, but as my equal as a wife should be."

Again they kissed, lost in the bliss of their reunion, and the plans for the future.

* * *

Across the seas, one Amell walked out of the tower for the first time. He breathed in the air, raised his arms and took in the touch of the wind. Daylen had abandoned his robes and the belt Irving had given him. He was no longer a mage of the tower, though he was not completely free either. He wore a grey shirt and a boiled leather belt over a pair of beige trousers. The young man lowered his arms, turning to Duncan as the Grey Warden approached.

"It is time," he said.

They began their long walk to Ostagar, a walk that Daylen enjoyed. He could see the trees, the grass, even people on the roads. It was a sight some very much took for granted. When they got to a tavern, Duncan rolled out a map of Ferelden that Daylen was already very familiar with.

"Ostagar is surrounded by the Kokari wilds, are you familiar with Ostagar?" Duncan asked.

"It was built by the Tevinter Imperium as a garrison to watch the Chasind. But during the first blight it was abandoned. When the Chasind were defeated by Hafter, the first Teryn of Ferelden, the garrison was left abandoned for centuries after the second blight," Daylen explained.

"Yes, but with the darkspawn gathering in the wilds, King Cailan and Teryn Loghain have positioned their armies there in preparation for a battle. They have already won several encounters with the darkspawn," Duncan said.

"The Darkspawn are smarter than they appear right?" Daylen asked.

"Their intelligence grows under the influence of an archdemon, but they are no fools, they are adept at trapping. Tell me what do you know of Darkspawn?"

"Mostly stories from the previous blights, that they become organised under the command of a Archdemon. The previous Archdemons were Dumat, dragon of silence. Zazikel, dragon of freedom. Toth, dragon of fire. And Andoral, the dragon of unity."

"Correct, though most sources believe them to be the corrupted form of the Old gods. We have confirmed that the Darkspawn burrow underground, and find them, thus beginning the Blights. With the possibility of this being the fifth blight, they may have discovered the dragon of beauty," Duncan explained.

"Urthemiel," Daylen felt a shiver run down his spine as he spoke the name of their enemy.

Part of him wanted to believe there was no blight. But he could not shake the feeling that what he was walking to was exactly that. Loghain was no fool, as the stories said and Daylen hoped the king wasn't one either. Although, he wouldn't be the first king to be as such, nor would Loghain be the first lord to have exaggerated stories behind his name. The hero of River Dane, Daylen had read of Loghain's life many times. It was one that showed him that greatness could come from those believed to be the lowest. After spending the night at the Tavern, they moved on and continued until they reached a hill on the edge of the wilds.

"What you see in the distance is the tower of Ishal, we may encounter darkspawn in the wilds, for that I wish to continue our conversation from yesterday. What do you know of darkspawn?" Duncan asked again.

"I could stand to learn more," Daylen said.

Duncan sat and removed several parchments from his bag. He rolled them out, showing Daylen artistic interpretations of the Darkspawn.

"Four types of darkspawn, Genlocks, formed from dwarven brood mothers, Hurlocks, formed from human brood mothers, Shreiks from elf brood mothers and Ogres formed from Qunari brood mothers," he indicated each monstrous image and continued:

"Genlocks are the most common, shorter than the others, but no less stronger, some are even capable of using magic. Hurlocks are another common one, making up the vanguard of the darkspawn forces. They are strong, organised and there are mages amongst them too."

"But dwarves can't use magic," Daylen said.

"They draw their power from the taint within them, Genlock mages are a rarity though. The Hurlock mages, named Emissaries are power and savagery combined. Shrieks are the most savage of all the darkspawn, even under an Archdemon's influence, they surpass even the Ogres in their bestiality. The Shrieks specialise in ambushes and outnumbering their opponents. Then there are the Ogres, the most rarest of all the Darkspawn to see, they far surpass the Qunari in their size and strength," Duncan explained.

"And all of the darkspawn have been seen in the horde?" Daylen asked.

"We haven't received confirmation that there is a horde, but we have spotted groups of Genlocks and Hurlocks travelling together through the woods. They take our scouts, ambush the king's army and have attacked the camp several times."

"They could be testing the Garrison's defences," Daylen suggested.

"Loghain thought as much, now Daylen, there are two things you must know. You were recruited by the wardens, but you are not yet one of us. First you must go through the joining with the other new recruits, I will assign several tasks for you when we reach camp, these tasks you will complete with the recruits and another warden. Next, and this is the most important part Daylen. The darkspawn carry within them the taint, the very thing that drives them and sustains them. The taint is a poison that causes a slow and agonising death, be careful of the darkspawn blood. Get it in your eyes and it could blind you, burn your skin, if you swallow it you will become infected with the taint," Duncan explained.

"I'll become like them?" Daylen asked.

"Not immediately, first it'll kill you, or it'll at least feel as if its killed you. Then you will start to hear what the darkspawn hear, a song, one that drives them to seek out and follow the Archdemons. You will lose your mind, and become a ghoul, a danger to all those around you," Duncan said, keeping his eyes locked on Daylen's.

"So you're just reinforcing the fact that darkspawn are the most dangerous creatures in the world," Daylen said and Duncan nodded.

"Now come, it is time for us to continue towards the camp."

When they got to the edge of the forest, Daylen stopped. He looked at the tall trees, they obscured the path ahead. Smells invaded his senses, smells he never sensed in the tower. Freedom was both a gift and a new obstacle in his life. In fact, Daylen realised, he wasn't truly free. Looking at his burnt hand, he tried to remember the smell of his own flesh. It must have been worse than the stench of animal shit. At least Daylen imagined it was. What really gave him pause was fear. He felt his heart pounding, every story he heard of the Darkspawn echoing in his mind. His mind twisted these stories into horrors of what could happen to him if he walked through the forest.

'Ambushes, they could be in the tree, in the marshes, the bushes, the very ground itself. If they surprise me, they could get close, if I kill them and blood gets on me, that could be the end.' so many possibilities ran through his mind.

"Come," Duncan said, but it didn't snap him away from his fears.

'What if Duncan dies, I could get lost in the wilds, the king's men could find me, if templars are with them they'll see I'm a mage and think I escaped. They won't bother to check if the wardens recruited me, and why would the wardens clarify it if one of their own is dead. What if I get the darkspawn blood in me, what if I wander and start to change. I could hurt someone, or kill myself, but if it comes down to it I might not do it, a good hearted fool can talk about ending their life for the greater good, but doing it is different,' his hand was shaking, sweat running down his face.

"Daylen," Duncan spoke louder, finally drawing Daylen's attention.

"There is no going back," the warden said.

"I know what I have to do, I know what duties are expected of me. But still..."

"I too have felt the fear you feel," Duncan said.

He put his hands on his hips and walked out of the forest.

"When I was younger, I was not a willing recruit of the wardens. I was a thief, bound for the hang man's noose, wardens took note of my skill and invoked the rite. Even though I was no stranger to conflict or blood, I too paused at the possibility that I would fight the darkspawn. You must not let this fear dominate you, rather use..."

"To give me an edge," Daylen finished Duncan's speech and looked up. "Use it to fight for longer than necessary, to strike harder than necessary. Sometimes a man who doesn't want to die, will live longer than a man who does, so long as he uses the fear right. It's what my grandfather used to say."

"I have heard that Fausten Amell was a great warrior," Duncan said.

"He still is, even if he loses his ability to fight, he'll remain one of the strongest men I've ever known," Daylen explained.

Duncan nodded and watched Daylen walk on ahead, he had been through all of his hesitation and was moving forward. They moved through the dirt and marshes, through the bush and trees. Daylen wanted to marvel at the world that was the Kokari wilds. He saw a great many things he hadn't gotten to see, hilltops, natural rock, swamp and trees that reached as high as the buildings in Kirkwall. But he knew he had to be focused, alert for animals in the wild, alert for the dark spawn. Duncan moved ahead for a bit and though Daylen trusted the tested warrior's senses, he kept himself awake and aware of his surroundings. He flinched when they passed a tree, dead bodies had been pinned to it. But when they got closer, and he saw the flies buzzing around them, the maggots crawling out of the dead flesh, Daylen felt the bile in his throat rise up. His hand came up to his mouth, but he couldn't fight it.

"It is all right, take a few breaths and regain your bearings," Duncan said, letting Daylen empty his stomach.

It was shock and fear, but not the kind that would hold him back, Duncan knew that. He watched the young man centre himself, the body still on his mind as was natural for it to be. But it wouldn't hold him back.

'Maker I at least hope it won't,' the Grey warden.

"We should bury them," Daylen said.

"We cannot linger here, in time, we will come back for their bodies, but right now we must see to ourselves," Duncan said.

Daylen held his tongue, he felt and knew that leaving those poor men on display like that was wrong. The Darkspawn had pinned them by their hands to the trees, cut off their private areas, they had opened one man's belly and cut out another man's eyes and for another had clearly bitten into his neck. Each death was slow and had no doubt called others here to investigate. The bodies had been feasted on by scavengers, bite marks were on their skin. When Daylen and Duncan walked a bit further, they felt bulges on the ground. Daylen backed away from the corpse of a man in chainmail, his face bashed in by a club. He looked in shock, seeing that bodies had been piled on top of one another.

"Scouts," Duncan identified them.

"They wanted to help their friends, this was a trapping area," Daylen said.

"Yes, this is what the darkspawn do, they are monsters, but not fools. They have tactics and can problem solve, that is why they are so dangerous," Duncan explained.

"I see, we need to go now," Daylen said.

Duncan pushed Daylen onwards, but then stopped. He gripped Daylen's shoulder and narrowed his eyes.

"What is it Dun..." Daylen never finished his sentence.

Duncan pulled him back, throwing him to the floor. An axe flew past where Daylen once stood, imbedding itself in the ground. Daylen heard them screech and roar, creatures he had only read about. Then he saw them, the Hurlocks, standing tall and ferocious, the Genlosk, bulky and snarling. Their armour, if it could be called that, was crude, made up of pieces of metal and possessed none of the decoration human armour did. They carried weapons that seemed to be reflections of the corruption within them. Daylen rose from the floor and counted the enemies around them. Five Hurlocks, three Genlocks. Two of the Hurlocks struck first and Duncan drew his weapon.

"Put fire between us and the enemy," Duncan commanded.

Daylen nodded his head, shooting a stream of fire from his hand. It formed a wall of fire and Duncan looked at it for a moment, the fire was bigger than he thought it would be. He blocked one of the Hurlock's swords and batted it to the ground, then slashed the Hurlock across the neck. The other came in as its ally fell and swung its great sword wildly. Duncan parried the blade, drew his knife and slashed the beast across the belly. He yanked his blade out of the creature's gut, then slashed it across the back. The other darkspawn ran either side of the flames. Daylen conjured a bolt of lightning, electrocuting one of the Genlocks. Then he used ice on a Hurlock, but much to his shock the monster broke through the ice and rushed towards him. Daylen slammed his staff into the ground, ready to use a telekinetic wave. But such a move was used on solid ground, not the muddy marsh of the wilds. When he released his magic, the dirt was thrown up into his face and he lost his footing.

'Damn it,' Daylen wiped the dirt away and looked up in horror.

The Hurlock was standing over him, ready to bring its blade down. Daylen brought his staff up, just in time to deflect the creature's blow. It stomped on his chest and Daylen felt one of his ribs break. He hit the Hurlock across the side of its head, burning it with the tip of his staff. But the Hurlock simply tried to slash at Daylen again. He blocked, then rolled out of the Hurlock's reach. Daylen looked towards Duncan and saw the warden engaging multiple enemies at once. The older man had already imbedded his knife in the head of a Genlock, and was parrying the blows of the other one. A hurlock came up behind Duncan, but was quickly slashed across the throat. Daylen rolled, avoiding his opponent's sword. Then he looked to his right and saw the other Hurlock approach with its spear drawn. It thrust forward, and Daylen tilted his head, feeling the jagged blade tear his cheek. He didn't feel the pain however, his heart was beating too fast.

'I don't want to die, I don't want to die,' he thought over and over.

He imagined the Hurlock's spear blade, the shape of it, how cruel it looked and savage. The same image appeared on the tip of his staff and he thrust it forward, tearing through the Hurlock's mouth. Daylen heard the rip of flesh and the shattering of bone, and he felt nothing.

'Move, MOVE!' he screamed inwardly.

The other Hurlock hit his staff so hard that he lost his grip on it.

'No, stupid, stupid, MOVE!'

He threw his hand forward, creating a rock fist that knocked the Hurlock back. Crawling across the floor, Daylen reached for his staff. But the Hurlock grabbed his leg and pulled him towards it. It dug its knee into Daylen's belly, pinning Daylen in place. The mage looked towards Duncan, locked in battle with another Hurlock.

"NO!" Daylen slammed his head into Hurlock's face, feeling its teeth cut his forehead.

He grabbed a stone and smashed it across the Hurlock's face. Crawling away from the monster, he got up and charged one hand with ice and another with electricity. He fired the ice into the Hurlock's leg, freezing it solid. Then grabbed the Hurlock by its forehead and unleashed the lightning. He watched the Hurlock convulse and heard it cry out in agony. The Hurlock's head began to bulge and bubble and Daylen closed his eyes and mouth. There was a pop, and Daylen felt the blood coat his face. He stepped back, feeling his heart still pounding. Then he fell into a sitting position and let out a trembled sigh of relief.

"DUNCAN!" he yelled.

"Daylen I am here, calm yourself, keep your eyes closed and your mouth shut," Duncan said.

Daylen felt the Warden pull him to his feet, heard the uncorking of a water satchel.

'The blood, is it going to burn my face more, have I been infected?' he wondered, filled with worry.

Duncan poured water over his face, using his glove to wash the blood off of it.

"Open your eyes, we're safe now, they're all dead," he told the mage.

Daylen took a few deep breaths and shook his head, punching his cheek to snap himself out of the shock of what had happened.

"I have seen magic and its power before, that was unlike any mage I had seen before. You rushed forward, stood your ground instead of retreated," Duncan said, his tone sounding like a lecture.

"If I fell back there was a good chance they would have killed me, I just did everything I could to stay alive," Daylen said.

"You have good instincts for fighting, well done," Duncan patted his back and let him find his balance, so he could stand on his own.

Daylen turned and walked towards his staff, picking it up from the ground. He saw a knife beside the corpse of a human soldier. A sudden thought crossed Daylen's mind, if he ever got pinned a knife would be a deadlier tool to get an opponent off than a rock. He picked the knife up, examining it. It had a red cloth handle and a ring on the end of it. The blade itself was sharp, though there was a chip on the edge of it, near the handle. Daylen slid the blade through his belt, gaining a nod of approval from Duncan, whom himself saw knives as a good reserve weapon.

"Shall we continue?" Daylen asked.

Again Duncan nodded in approval. He saw how Daylen reacted, fearful, cautious, everything an inexperienced young recruit would be. But despite that, he still moved forward and perhaps would be more courageous than ever. It was enough for Duncan to know that he hadn't made a mistake recruiting the young mage.

* * *

The Meadow

Selene and Revion stood side by side, both dressed in the finest clothes they had. But in comparison to other lords and ladies of the Meadow, they were dressed quite modestly. They stood in front of Bella, the only priest they trusted to lead their service. On one side were those loyal to the House Amell, and on the other were those loyal to House Greenward. Dayla, Dayk, Aristanna, Revka, Fausten and Bryan sat at the front of the House Amell side and many held a different reaction. Aristanna saw true love being fulfilled, Revka saw a son about to marry the woman he loved, Dayla saw her twin carrying out a ridiculous concept, Dayk saw his brother achieving happiness before he could. Bryan's attention however was caught by Fausten.

"You will take care of them will you?" his old friend asked him.

"Faust, what are you saying?" Bryan asked.

"Nothing, we shouldn't really talk," Fausten grinned.

"We are gathered here today not as servants of any faith, but as members of two families about to become one. Revion, I have loved you like my own son since the moment I held you in my arms, you are the culmination of your grandfather's wisdom and your mother's courage. Selene, I see not just the qualities of a dutiful wife, but a trust worthy partner and a devoted lover for Revion, I see the love between you. In this world of titles and lands, many forget that the basis of marriage was love, and it warms my heart to see it in you," Bella explained.

"As a priestess of the chant of light, I speak these words, do you Selene Greenward vow to love Revion, to support him through good and bad, to keep his path true, to never betray his trust and to stand by his side through richer and poorer, sickness and health, until death parts you from one another?"

"I vow," Selene said, looking at Revion as she spoke the words.

"Revion Amell, do you vow to love Selene, to protect and respect her, to never cage her and trust her, to never betray her trust and stand by her side through richer and poorer, sickness and health, until death parts you from one another?"

"I vow!"

"Stand within this circle please," Bella pulled off her scarf as Revion and Selene stepped into a chalk circle.

She tied the scarf around their necks, linking them together.

"This sort of ceremony, it is not one used by the old gods or the new," someone from the Greenward side said.

"The Chantry does not do this," said another from the Amell side.

Bella ignored them and carried on.

"Within this circle is a world you now both share. Each trial ahead is not your own to bear, but the others as well. This scarf is the bond between you, one that will never break. Now, through the power and authority granted to me by the maker, the divine and King Robert Baratheon, I hereby proclaim you both man and wife," she untied the scarf and smiled at the two youths. "Now kiss, and let that be what solidifies your bond!"

Revion traced his finger over Selene's forehead, around her cheek and to her chin. She linked her hand with his, rested her other hand on his chest as he pulled her into a gentle kiss. Slowly their lips pressed together, holding it as people began to cheer. The two lovers, now husband and wife separated their lips and smiled at one another.

"It is done," she whispered.

"This is the single most happiest moment of my life," Revion said.

"No my love, that moment will come when you have achieved everything you have always wanted," Selene said.

"No, this, you are what I want, everything else is simply duty."

Again they kissed, when night passed, the fire raged and people celebrated. Revion danced with his new wife, Aristanna and Dayla playfully with one another and many others. Fausten's old warrior friends drank and sang old songs with Selene's father and Revion stood in solitude. Bella and Revka sat together, sipping cups with mead in them.

"Father is not here, I think I know what he is planning," Revka lowered her head as she spoke.

"I believe Revion will be ready, it is Dayk who concerns me, there is still a great darkness lingering around him," Bella said.

"He will find his way, I have faith Bella, my children have grown so strong. Father wishes to go, so to will I, Cersei invited me to stay with her in Kings landing, I think I will accept her offer. It is about time the young make the Meadow their own dreams come true," Revka explained and smiled.

"What has driven you to this decision sister?" Bella asked.

It was a question that Bryan asked Fausten. The older man came out of his barn, his hair cut as short as he used to cut it, his beard too trimmed. He had dressed himself in red under clothes, but over them he had put on a bronze chainmail shirt, grey greaves over his boots, a grey vest across his chest and back and pauldrons. He fastened a pair of steel guards over his gloves and walked to his horse.

"Usually they have to wait for you to die," Bryan muttered.

"I am dead Bryan, I haven't been the same lord for a few years now, being lord of the Meadow doesn't stimulate my mind the way it needs to be anymore. How many lords can say that they parted with their title on their own terms? This is how I part with it, by giving it to a worthy successor, and there is more. We received a letter from First Enchanter Irving...he is free Bryan, Daylen is now walking a path free of the confines of the tower, the path of a Grey warden," Fausten laughed as Bryan widened his eyes.

"It is a path fraught with danger, but I have no doubt in my mind that he will become a hero now. This has made me realise, that I never got to fulfil my dream, to be a hero. Who says that it is too late to fulfil that dream?" Fausten asked.

"You are not the warrior you used to be old friend, you can't piss right anymore and you forget your days," Bryan said.

"You're not getting any younger yourself Bryan," Fausten retorted. "Besides its easier to say goodbye to a previous lord when he's become less capable," the man grinned and Bryan widened his eyes in shock.

Then he shook his head and chuckled in amusement, he noticed Fausten wasn't walking with a cane anymore, his back was straighter and he didn't fumble with his words. The man had taken a page straight from the book of Pycelle. Perhaps his mind still wasn't what it used to be, even so he was still brilliant. He fastened a green cloak onto his shoulders, picked up a spear and climbed onto his white horse. Bryan offered Fausten his sword and the old warrior slid it through his belt. Fausten gave him the letter, his will, and both patted their fists together.

"Go old friend and fulfil your dream, wherever it may take you," Bryan said.

"Maybe to Dorne, or the Iron islands, or to Essos, perhaps I'll even find a dragon," Fausten winked and kicked his horse, galloping out of the stables.

The old warrior rode as fast as he could, leaving behind the Meadow and passing those whom looked up to him. People whispered, 'was that Lord Fausten?' and watched him ride away.

'Aerys my old friend, thank you for the Meadow, but that was never my dream. Let it go to the young ones, let them forge their own stories now. I will see you again old friend, but not yet, not yet, the Meadow was but one chapter of my life. The Story of Fausten Amell, the phoenix has not ended yet!' Fausten saw the prince on the hill top, raising his hand in farewell.

He was the image of the noble prince that Fausten chose to remember.

"HEY FAUST!" a yell alerted Fausten to others behind him.

He looked over his shoulder and saw galloping after him, friends. Stork and Stone both led a host of old warriors including Ulrich and Darius, all of them smiling.

"You didn't think we'd let you go alone did you?" the dwarf asked.

"HA! Then let us go my friends, let us ride forth to many more ADVENTURES!" Fausten yelled, raising his spear and riding onwards.

And so Fausten Amell left the Meadow, and would later leave Westeros to pursue a new path in Essos. That night, Bryan would read Fausten's will and declare Revion and Selene the new lord and lady of the Meadow. Revka would travel to King's landing the next day, establish an estate outside of the city and join the royal court.

Daylen meanwhile walked into the Ferelden camp at Ostagar and began his trials as a Grey Warden.

Next Final Chapter: The battle of Ostagar

* * *

Final chapter? Wait and see to find out. Next time is a focus on Daylen, and brief flashes to Westeros, as Daylen faces the life changing trials of Ostagar and House Amell heads in a new direction.


	22. Chapter 22

Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Age or A song of ice and fire

Here we have it folks, the final arc of this story

* * *

Game of Dragons

The Tal Vashoth would not be missed, as obscure as the Qunari could be, that was something they knew for sure. It had been a quick skirmish, nothing more, a warm up to the events to come. Fausten removed his spear from the chest of a Kossith giant, tilting his helmet up by its nose guard as the others mopped up. Ulrich pulled a chunk out of one Vashoth's neck and kept on feeding. He had stopped wearing his decorated plate armour and wore leather armour and chainmail, his longer hair also gave him the appearance many in the group sought, that of a vagabond. For that was the life they were seeking now, not riches or fine halls. Fausten plopped his bottom onto the body of his enemy and rested his spear on his shoulder, looking up at the sky. Beside him Stone also took a seat, hammer resting on his shoulder, whilst Stork leant on his bow.

"What's on your mind Faust?" the dwarf asked.

"Since we left the Meadow, I have had the feeling that something grand is about to happen," Fausten said.

"Your grandson joined the Grey Wardens, something tells me a Blight is upon us," Stork said.

"Maker help us if it goes beyond Ferelden, Maker help them too," Fausten muttered, looking up at the sky.

* * *

House Amell of Westeros

Chapter 22: The battle of Ostagar

Daylen looked up at the sky, seeing the sudden shift in the clouds. It was sunny, but Daylen had a feeling the clouds were a sign of a great rain that would fall down in the night. He then looked at the great view of Ostagar, the ruins of the great blockade, ruins that the royal army was seriously under utilising. He turned away from the balcony edge and to the main camp. Duncan had given him a few tasks to carry out, familiarising himself with the camp, getting equipment from the smith, meeting the other warden recruits and retrieving the junior warden Alistair. Daylen walked away from the balcony areas, passing Grey Wardens teaching the soldiers about Darkspawn. Many of the Grey wardens were wearing matching armour, silver plate over some kind of blue and white robe or uniform. Even the mage wardens wore a type of plate armour. Stepping behind some of the soldiers, Daylen looked towards a mage warden, she was an elf using scale mail on her shoulders and a shoulder guard shaped after the griffon emblem of the wardens, her armour matched that of other warden mages and would probably be what Daylen would wear.

"Genlock Emissaries, though not as strong as Hurlock emissaries are powerful practitioners of entropic magic as well as lightning magic, they can paralyse their victims, drain their life, or crush them in a prison of mana, there are also variants of the Genlock Emissaries, the Necromancers and the Conjurers. Necromancers reanimate and control the dead, conjurers are capable of summoning shades, demons from the fade. The Hurlock Emissaries are some of the most intelligent Darkspawn that we know of, whilst Genlock emissaries are the most cunning," she explained.

Daylen moved over to the next area, where a Grey Warden rogue was showing off a pair of bodies. The man wore pairs of brown gloves and boots, a silver and blue scale mail robe, silver plate armour on his waist and chest. He had a hood partly covering his face and was holding a knife, regarding the Hurlock and Genlock bodies like a butcher.

"These are Alphas, they are the biggest and strongest of the Hurlocks and Genlocks, they lead packs, acting as commanders and maintaining a form of discipline amongst the savagery of the darkspawn. They also show a certain resistance to traditional killing techniques, the killing blow didn't come from the stab to the Genlock's armpit, or the slash across the Hurlock's belly, both eventually bled to death, not before killing several of our men. If you even encounter an Alpha, take out the head or the heart, and try to kill it first too, the rest of the pack will get frightened and might even flee. Unless they have the Archdemon flying over them," the rogue explained before sticking the knife in the Hurlock's eye.

Walking down a flight of steps and onto the dirt path, Daylen was drawn to the clanging of metal. He saw another group of soldiers gathered around a make shift ring. A Ferelden knight was fighting a Grey Warden warrior, the man wore silver plates over his blue and silver scale mail robe. He had on a helmet with a V shaped eye slit and a pair of wings on the side of it. His opponent was wielding a sword of fine craft, whilst he was using a cruel, jagged weapon that Daylen suspected was of darkspawn design. The Grey warden was parrying and blocking the knight's attacks. When the knight thrust his sword, the warden grabbed his wrist and put the darkspawn sword to his throat.

"They may not look as pretty as a blade made in the cities or the dwarven halls, but a darkspawn sword is just as deadly, if not more so than a weapon forged by our kind," the warrior let go of the knight and stuck the sword into the ground. "Sword, knife, axe, mace and arrow, I have seen weapons made by mankind purely for the sake of decoration, or intimidation. Darkspawn weapons are made to kill, and in the cruellest way possible, not just from what the blade can do to the flesh. Many of their weapons carry the taint within them, a poison that will slowly and agonisingly kill you in the best circumstances, or infect you with the taint itself!"

Daylen imagined being cut by one of those swords, how badly it would rip his skin, how the taint would burn his flesh. He shivered and walked away from the show, towards the encampment tents. They had been set up for the royal army, those whom fell under Cailan or Loghain's command. He recalled meeting the king earlier with Duncan. They had entered Ostagar and where welcomed by Cailan and his personal guard. The young man was very much the image of a heroic king, long blonde hair, a handsome face and his armour. Daylen could tell that the gold plate armour was designed both for combat, and to appear every bit as impressive as it seemed. It was a king's suit of armour.

"Ho there Duncan," there had been no bellowing horns, Cailan just approached Duncan and shook his hand.

"King Cailan? I didn't expect..."

"A royal welcome? I was beginning to worry you'd miss all the fun!" Cailan smiled, grasping Duncan's shoulder as if he was an old friend.

"Not if I could help it your majesty," Duncan said, more out of courtesy and not in actual agreement of Cailan's enthusiasm.

"Then I'll have the might Duncan at my side after all, glorious!" Cailan stepped to Duncan's side, as if he was performing for some kind of play.

It seemed as if he was standing in a way that matched the images of heroes in the past. Often there had been tails of two great warriors fighting side by side. Cailan's regard for a slaughter told Daylen several things, he was confident of his abilities and their chances of victory, he was hiding concern and fear, or he was just ignorant of the inevitable horrors of the coming battle. Small victories seemed to have given him confidence.

"The other wardens tell me you have a promising recruit, is this him?" Cailan asked, turning to Daylen.

"It is your majesty, allow me to introduce you," Duncan said.

"There's no need to be so formal, we'll be shedding blood together after all, ho friend, might I know your name?" Cailan turned to Daylen, looking at him directly.

"I am Daylen your majesty," Daylen bowed his head as he spoke.

"Stand easy friend, I understand you hail from the circle of magi, I trust you'll have some powerful spells to help us in the coming battle," Cailan said.

"I am just out of my apprenticeship!"

"But your abilities are still above most men, the wardens would not have recruited if it wasn't so, they are desperate to fill their numbers and I am all too happy to assist them. Allow me to be the first to welcome you to Ostagar, the wardens will benefit greatly with you in their ranks," Cailan explained.

"You're too kind your majesty," Daylen said.

"I'm sorry to cut this short, but I must return to my tent, Loghain waits eagerly to bore me with his strategies," Cailan rolled his eyes regarding the hero of River Dane.

"Your uncle sends his greetings and reminds you that Redcliffe forces could be here in less than a week," Duncan explained.

"Ha! Eamon just wants in on the glory, we've won three battles against these monsters and tomorrow should be no different," Cailan said.

"From what I saw in the wilds, I didn't think things were going that well," Daylen said and when Cailan tilted his head in confusion he elaborated. "We found men butchered by the dark spawn, and we were ambushed by some ourselves," he explained.

"There are plenty of darkspawn on the field and in the woods, but there hasn't been a sign of the archdemon, I'm not even sure this is a real blight," Cailan turned away from them and sighed.

"Disappointed your majesty?" Duncan asked.

"I'd hoped for a war like in the tales," the king smiled with glee. "A king riding with the fabled grey wardens against a tainted god, but I suppose this will have to do," he explained before turning to Duncan and Daylen. "Now I must go before Loghain sends out a search party, farewell Grey Wardens!"

Duncan bowed his head and Daylen performed the Fereldan salute. He crossed his arms into an X over his chest and bowed. The conversation was enough for Daylen to know that the king didn't seem to take the battle seriously. Duncan assured Daylen that his instincts told him this was a true blight, and Daylen agreed. But the king could not act surely on the instinct of a grey warden. Walking through the camp Daylen had heard some things, that apparently every grey warden in Ferelden was at Ostagar, and reinforcements were expected from Orlais but could not cross the border yet. It was all dependent on whether Cailan would agree to also let a legion of Chevaliers in as well.

'A move that will be unpopular, considering Orlais had occupied Ferelden for generations, keeping it as a slave state in everything but formal name,' Daylen thought, remembering the many children at the circle who spoke of their embittered families.

It was a bitterness that Daylen saw in the eyes of Teryn Loghain when he requested an audience. If Cailan was the image of a king, Loghain seemed the visual opposite of Cailan. His hair was dark, a set stern look was across his rough face, scarred and marked from a life of fighting and the stress of rule. He wore dark plate armour and stood with more discipline than Cailan.

"Yes what is it? Ah, you are Duncan's new grey warden I assume," he said.

"How do you know that?" Daylen asked.

"His majesty could not contain his excitement after your meeting, how could I not hear about you? Cailan's fascination goes beyond the ordinary. Are you aware it was his father who brought your order back to Ferelden?" Loghain asked.

"A fascination I sense you don't share," Daylen said and Loghain shrugged.

"Maric respected the Grey wardens, they have an honoured place in the hearts of our people. They are formidable but not as relevant as they were before. But even Maric understood that it takes more than legends to win a battle. That's not an argument I'll repeat here," Loghain explained.

"I agree my lord, tactics and the men implementing those tactics are what win battles. I understand that the king wants to meet them on an open field. But wouldn't it make more sense to lead the darkspawn into the narrow path behind the army, where our archers can hit them and our infantry keep them trapped?" Daylen asked.

Loghain and the men behind him seemed surprised by Daylen's input. The men were perhaps anxious over their lord scolding Daylen for his presumptuous nature. But the Teryn seemed to regard the tactic, there was no disapproval on his face, but he wasn't going to give away whether he agreed with it or not.

"I hear you're from the circle of Magi. The first enchanter spoke very highly of you, a great achievement for one so young," Loghain said. "And I understand you've already used your magic to fight, and kill," the Teryn added that last part with intent.

"I... you've heard of the incident with Leo?" Daylen asked.

"Rumours, nothing I want our king to hear of, he's already enamoured by the wardens. Now I must return to my task, pray that our king proves amendable to wisdom, if you're the praying sort," Loghain said.

"I'm not!"

"Then let us both keep in mind that Cailan is Maric's son, leader of my beloved Ferelden, and a very young man," the Teryn nodded his head to Daylen and turned back to his tent.

Like he had with the king, Daylen crossed his arms together and bowed. Though Loghain hadn't been as welcoming as Cailan, the young mage could certainly see that though Loghain wasn't every bit the hero people told stories about, he was still a man who loved his country. Daylen continued exploring the camp, checking to see where everyone was stationed. He stopped at the tents for the circle mages, protected by two templars. Behind the templars, he caught sight of Uldred and Wynn, both conversing. When they finished their conversation, Wynn looked towards Daylen and called him over.

"Daylen, your robes?" she paused, looking Daylen up and down, coming to a realisation. "You have been recruited by the wardens," she said.

"An honour," Uldred huffed.

"I passed my Harrowing, that's when Duncan came to the tower," Daylen said, leaving out the details with Jowan.

He could see the disappointment in Wynn's eyes, perhaps not with him being there, but him not being able to achieve anything with the circle anymore.

"What has the king had the mages doing?" Daylen asked.

"Wasting our time," Uldred said.

"Hush Uldred, we have offered our assistance for healing and fortifying armour, but many of the king's advisors believe we would be best suited for striking groups of Darkspawn with our magic," Wynn explained.

"They're wasting our potential, every time we try to suggest a more effective use of our magic, that damned revered mother whispers in the ears of the generals, keeping us from offering a simple solution to achieving victory," Uldred explained.

"What are you suggesting Uldred?" Daylen asked.

"Simple glyphs that will allow us to manipulate the fade, opening a rift would create a destructive force capable of destroying the horde," Uldred stated, his voice filled with pride.

"Or it could create a breach that could destroy Ostagar, or worse," Daylen retorted.

Uldred scowled and Daylen walked away, not wanting to continue talking with either Wynn or Uldred. He knew what Wynn had to say about the darkspawn, her thoughts on their origins being a metaphor for the dangers of magic and the greed of men. Daylen already knew enough about that. He walked to the kennels and saw for the famed Mabari of Ferelden. They were huge dogs, many of them marked with the war paint of the Ash warriors. Looking at them, it easy to see how they would be effective tools in battle. But against Darkspawn they seemed more detrimental, many of them looked sick. Daylen came upon the Kennel master, keeping his distance from a Mabari. He leant against the wooden fence and looked at the Mabari closely, it seemed younger than the others, his fur was a light brown.

"Poor boy," the dog trainer said.

"What's wrong with him?" Daylen asked.

"He lost his handler in the last battle, and got darkspawn blood in his mouth," the man stated.

"Will he become tainted?"

"Actually the taint can work a bit differently with Mabari, it doesn't spread through them like it does through other animals, that's not to say it still won't kill them," the trainer explained.

He turned to Daylen and the mage saw the muzzle in his hand.

"I could treat him, but I ran out of the ingredients I need for the treatment," he said.

"What do you need?" Daylen asked.

"There are flowers that grow near the lakes in the wilds, red and white flowers, almost a pinkish red. But that doesn't mean anything unless I can't get him to calm down," the trainer explained.

Daylen looked at the dog and saw the subtle aggressiveness in its body language. The Amells owned dogs in Kirkwall, and he recalled hearing one of the trainers explaining dog behaviour. Even when a dog seemed calm, they could still be aggressive. Mabari, though possessing more intelligence, were still dogs.

"Could I try it?" Daylen asked.

"All you need to do is get the muzzle on him, but I won't be responsible for him biting off your hand," the trainer said.

Daylen opened the kennel, slipping past the trainer and taking the muzzle. He remembered how the trainer stood, tall, firm, but not aggressive. One could be firm with a dog, but too aggressive and that would agitate a dog more. Sometimes people said 'you have to show the dog whose boss' and that was too simple a philosophy. There was establishing both trust and dominance. Daylen stood for minutes, looking at the dog, whom looked back. The sign was when the Mabari lowered his head, submission, an offer of trust. Daylen knelt, a show of weakness, but also trust. He stroked the dog's head, firmly, then gradually growing softer.

"That's it boy, that's it," he picked up the muzzle and held it up, bringing it towards the dog's jaw.

Their eyes met for a moment and they remained still. No snarl from the Mabari, no tremble from Daylen. Then Daylen fastened the muzzle around the dog's jaw.

"Good boy," he said, patting the Mabari's back.

"Impressive, the dog's taken with you," the trainer put a hand to his chin and smiled. "Find that flower and I'll get him treated, we could even discuss the possibility of you becoming his new master."

"It would be good to have a dog, but I'm to be a grey warden, I don't know if I would be allowed one," Daylen said.

"Well come back later and we'll discuss it," the trainer patted Daylen's shoulder and moved on to the next dog.

Daylen looked at the Mabari again, waving his fingers at him before he moved on. He watched a few of the soldiers practicing their archery. Lines of men and women knocked back arrows and fired. There was one in the group who seemed to perform quite well. She was wearing leather armour, it seemed to offer mild protection, keeping her arms exposed, the skirt protected her lower body but the rest of her legs were also exposed. Which told Daylen she wasn't a knight but an enlistee (or perhaps even some conscripted). Daylen then looked to her face, her blue eyes, her short black hair. From the angle Daylen looked, she reminded him of someone he once knew.

'Leandra, no, it couldn't be,' he thought, dismissing the thought and then walked away.

The archer hit the bulls eye of her target and wiped the sweat from her forehead.

"Hawke, that brother of yours is supposed to be digging the latrine pit, not starting fights, drag him out of there," the squad leader said.

The young woman ran to the said latrine pit. Daylen crossed it, seeing her dive in and force a bigger, dark haired lad off of just as aggressive men.

"They were calling me a coward," the boy snarled.

"I don't care Carver, this isn't the time for us to fight one another," the young woman said.

Choosing to ignore the exchange, Daylen kept on going until he reached the cages. They drew his eye, only because there was only one person in them. He had been stripped naked, was shivering and scratched from a whip. The man raised his head as Daylen approached, turning it away and huffing in anger.

"Come to taunt me like the others, or sneer at me?" the man asked and spat onto the dirt.

"Why would I do that?" Daylen asked.

"That's what people do to deserters, cowards," the man laughed, banging the back of his head against the bars in frustration.

"And are you a deserter?"

"What does it matter, if I'm not executed for my cowardice then I'll starve to death soon anyway," the man said.

"It matters to me," Daylen retorted.

"You are a strange one," the man rested his arms through the bars and weakly chuckled.

"I was trying to get away, just one soldier out of many trying to get home to his family. My friends died fighting these monsters, if I was going to die I wanted it to be getting back to my home. So yeah, I am a coward and a deserter," he explained, lowering his head.

"Why haven't they given you anything to eat?" Daylen asked.

"They don't see the point of it, I'm going to die here, there's a chance we're all going to die here."

The man lowered his head in defeat. Daylen wanted to say something, but couldn't think of any words that would make it better. Really there was nothing he could do, he couldn't free the man, and his words had no magi that could ease his pain. He simply turned and walked away, having had enough of exploration and deciding to get his equipment. The smith had finished scolding his elf helper and turned to Daylen, taking in his appearance.

"You the warden recruit, the mage? Fine then," the bulky man huffed and went to his table.

He produced a sack that Daylen would clip to his waist and a pouch. Daylen checked over the pouch and saw that there were a multitude of lyrium potions in there. He also checked an additional pouch and saw some poultices and a water canister. The smith then came by with something else that caught Daylen's eye.

"Duncan had this made for you, sent a bird with a letter telling us to get started on it right away, I can see why," the man gestured to Daylen's burnt arm.

It was armour, plates connected to a gauntlet and shoulder guard. Daylen took the armour and fitted his arm through it. His fingers slid into the glove on the gauntlet and he formed a fist, then loosened his fingers and stretched them.

"Not a bad design, it'll do its job, but that's the last thing you're getting, fill your canister and get a ration from the elf," the smith stated, gesturing to his assistant.

Daylen thanked both men, collecting his gear. He looked at the piece of bread he had been given. Being a grey warden had its perk, it was bigger than what other soldiers would get. Daylen split the ration in half. Giving the prisoner at least something to eat was what he could do. It wouldn't change anything, but it was the kind thing to do at least.

'Now to find Alistair,' Daylen thought.

* * *

The border of the Meadow

Revion sat on his horse, wind blowing through his hair, waving the cloak on his shoulder behind him. His black horse, a gigantic and aggressive thing stomped its hooves. Beside him sat upon her white stallion was Selene. She was wearing a blue dress, but with black and gold armour over her chest, and a pair of riding gloves. Around them were a few men in light weight black armour, swords and knives strapped to their belts, with helmets that had nose guards on their heads. A pair of those soldiers brought a man towards Revion, dumping him in a knelt position. Selene watched her husband's eyes narrow and become sterner as he dismounted his horse. He walked over to the man, not a nobleman, but someone from a common line. The man looked up, one part fear and another part defiance in his eyes.

"You have the look of the North in you, at least the North before the wall," Revion said.

"Aye, I hail from Winterfell," the man said.

"Your name?"

"Kane!"

"Your profession, skill?"

"Whatever I could do to make money and put on the table for my two girls, their mother died giving birth to them. I did what I could but they were starving, so I killed game usually reserved for the lords of Winterfell," he lowered his head and sighed, then his eyes narrowed in fury. "The 'warden of the north' offered me two things, I could have my hand cut off or join the knight's watch. I figured I would do my part for the realm, or at least survive for my girls. I was sent to East watch by the sea, and all I found was the same thing I found at Winterfell, honourable...'noble' men putting their foots on troubled people. I wasn't going to waste my life fighting their war, so I deserted...yes I confess I deserted," he explained and stood up.

The Meadow soldiers behind him put their hands up to draw their swords. Revion however stopped both men with a simple raise of his hand.

"When a man confesses to a crime, and mocks the nobility without fear, it says a lot about him. You are prepared to die aren't you?" Revion asked.

"Yes," the man seethed.

"Because you have nothing left do you?" Revion's eyes fell in sympathy as the man began to cry.

"I came back to Winterfell, and found my daughters, one was forced upon by a man who will be given the same 'justice' I was. And the other, starved and sick, left to die. What did the great heroic Eddard Stark do for them? That monster he let live raped my girl, and LAUGHED ABOUT IT! And Stark offers him what he offered me, as if our crimes were the same!"

He really didn't care, he cursed the name Stark as if it was all nobility. Revion did not look at the man in anger, or even sympathy. He simply nodded his head.

"Very well, then let us see justice done!"

* * *

Ostagar

"Well, well, what have we here!" he remembered those words and the woman who spoke them.

Morrigan, a witch of the wilds. She beautiful, that was what Daylen first remembered and he cursed himself for it. That was not the sort of thing he should have immediately noticed about her, but he did. He was just a man after all, and Morrigan, although thin and wild featured, certainly was beautiful. She also had an arrogance about her, a mystery that Daylen wanted to solve but knew he wouldn't have time. He had gone into the wilds under Duncan's orders to find the darkspawn blood for their joining ritual. The wilds had thrown at them blighted beasts, darkspawn ambushes and more horrifying sights of the dead. But Daylen fought, alongside his fellow recruits.

Daveth, a thief recruited to escape the noose. But he was brave, Daylen could see that in the way he fought. He was quick with his blades and smart. The young man had a mouth on him too, always joking, but he had insightful things to say. When they met Morrigan, he wasn't drawn to flirt with her as he had with other women at Ostagar, but he was afraid. 'She'll turn us into frogs' he said, looking at her and speaking to her with terror in his eyes and voice. By the time they got back to the camp, Daylen could see that Daveth had joined the wardens for more than just escaping his past. He wanted to fight the darkspawn.

Then there was Jory, or Ser Jory as he introduced himself as. He was from Highever, much older than Daylen, Daveth and Alistair, not without skill but like many knights he was truly untested. The man wasn't a veteran of the Orlesian war, but someone who had earned his title in melees and jousts. Though there were probably a good few knights like that who were also formidable fighters in real battles, Jory wasn't one of them. He could kill darkspawn, but Daylen saw a fear in his eyes every time he fought. His hand would shake and any discipline he had from training was lost. Daylen only hoped that the man's love for his wife and child on the way would lead him forward.

Out of all the companions he took with him into the wilds, Daylen found himself liking Alistair more. He was joking and reassuring, and good with his sword and shield. Their first meeting had been humorous, Alistair had been sassing a mage, expressed his suspicion of Daylen for his magic and rolled with Daylen's own taunts over Alistair's templar training. Daylen saw from the way Alistair held his shield and sword, many of the moves he used were adapted from techniques Daylen had seen the templars at the tower use. Alistair regarded Morrigan more with caution, and Morrigan seemed to take an instant dislike to him.

"You fear barbarians will come swooping down on you?" she asked.

"Yes, swooping is bad," Alistair retorted.

Daylen laughed inwardly, Alistair had sounded so awkward, as if it was the best thing he could think of to say. It turned out Morrigan had what they were looking for, the second item Duncan had sent them to look for. Treaties, promising the help of dwarves, elves and the circle mages. Morrigan and her mother had been protecting them. Her mother, something about that woman living in her hut, surrounded by a swamp, made Daylen feel uneasy. She spoke as if she knew more than she let on, and to anyone else might seem a mad woman. But Daylen couldn't shake his instinct, he didn't normally base his opinions on instinct but he didn't like that woman. She said something that vexed him.

"This blight is more than it appears," and he wondered what she meant?

Duncan simply assumed they were apostates, and ignored them. His focus was on preparations for the coming battle, and the joining. Alistair and the three recruits gathered at a part of the camp cut off from the rest. It was close enough to the war council table for Duncan to walk to, and far enough for the wardens to keep their privacy. Night had begun to fall, and Daylen suspected that the horde would arrive at any moment. Whatever the joining was, it was imminent, though there was still impatience amongst some of the group.

"How long do they intend to keep us in the dark like this?" Jory asked.

"Are you still whining?" Daveth asked.

"I am not whining, it's just, they haven't told us anything about this Joining, have I not proven myself enough?"

"Maybe it's tradition, maybe they're just doing it to annoy you," Daveth chuckled.

"All this secrecy," Jory shook his head.

"Because this joining must be dangerous," Daylen said and Daveth pointed at him and nodded in agreement.

"And let's face it knight, if you knew would you have come?"

"All I know is that I have a wife in Highever expecting a child," Jory said.

"Would you do anything to protect them? Including stopping the blight? Because if we don't stop the blight, your wife and babe won't be safe," Daveth stated.

"Don't put that in his head right now Daveth," Daylen said.

"Why not, what are you willing to do to stop the blight?" Daveth asked.

"Sacrifice my life if necessary, and that's okay, because it is my life. I was a mage of the circle, my family is far away, they care only in their letters and after that I am a simple after thought to them. Their lives will move on without me, my life doesn't matter when weighed against others," Daylen explained.

"I agree, to stop the blight, we all have to do whatever it takes," Daveth said.

Daylen saw no humour in the former thief's expression. He truly believed everything that he said. Joining the wardens was not just an escape, but a way for him to make his life mean something. The trio grew silent and looked to the entrance to their ritual area, where Duncan stood, adorn in full grey warden gear. Alistair was behind him in his scale armour and holding a chalice. Daylen could feel the magic seeping from the chalice, someone from the circle must have altered it in some way. Duncan produced one of the bags of blood that they had gathered and poured it into the chalice.

"Many ages ago, the first of the wardens gathered and carried out the first joining. Since then, the joining has remained one of our closest guarded secrets. By drinking darkspawn blood, we draw into ourselves the taint, the source of our power and our victory. Once the joining is complete, we gain the ability to sense when the darkspawn is near," Duncan explained.

"We have to, drink the blood," Jory quivered.

He kept a distance from the chalice, unlike Daylen and Daveth. Daveth kept his eyes focused on the chalice, whilst Daylen looked towards Jory. The knight was showing signs of his panic, sweating, his eyes rapidly moving between the others present and the chalice, the blood curdling inside it.

"Words are spoken before each joining," Alistair said, bowing his head.

"Join us brothers and sisters, join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant, join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten, and that one day we shall join you!"

"Daveth step forward," Duncan commanded.

The young man eagerly walked in front of Duncan, taking the chalice with both hands. He tilted the contents down his throat, the blood soaking his lips. He had his eyes closed as he swallowed the liquid and slowly gave the cup back to Duncan.

"You are now a grey warden," Duncan said.

Duncan stood for a moment, smiling as if his dreams had come true. Then tilted his head, touching his throat as if there was some unpleasant taste in his mouth. He stumbled and suddenly gripped his head. The scream that came from Daveth's mouth horrified both Daylen and Jory. Never before had either of them heard such agony come from a person. Daveth fell to his knees, blood leaking from his white eyes. He vomited out a puddle of blood and began to convulse, blood gushing out of his mouth.

"Maker," Jory trembled.

Daveth kept on screaming and coughing, and shaking until his body suddenly went limp, his eyes open, still white but now empty. Daylen looked at Daveth's body, drawn back to the moment he had held the dead Surana in his arms. He trembled as well, but for different reasons that Jory did.

"I am sorry Daveth," Duncan said, pouring another pouch of blood into the cup before he turned to Jory.

"Jory, step forward and take up the duty that cannot be foresworn!"

"No, this...you ask too much," Jory whimpered.

"There is no going back," Duncan said.

"Wait, he was recruited, not conscripted," Daylen said, snapping out his trance and looking between Duncan and Jory.

"I have a wife and child," Jory suddenly drew his sword as Duncan approached.

A mix of disapproval and shame crossed Duncan's face as he drew his knife from his belt.

"What are you two doing, Duncan, Jory put your blades away, stop this," Daylen said.

His hands were shaking, he thought of using his power to stop this. But what would he do? He wondered. How could he stop them? He wondered. Duncan backed Jory against the wall and the knight stood his ground. They couldn't really be willing to kill one another for this. At least that was what Daylen hoped.

"Stop this please, Duncan give the cup to me, I'll drink it, just let Jory walk away. Please for his wife and ch..."

But he was too late, Jory swung his sword at Duncan, who ducked and slid the blade between Jory's arm pit. The knight looked at Duncan in horror as the warden commander dug the knife in. Jory's body went limp and Duncan guided him to the floor.

"You left me no choice Jory," Duncan said.

Daylen looked at Jory's body, his eyes fixed on it. Duncan's voice became little more than a blur to him as he stared at the knight. A man who continually went on about a wife and child waiting for him. He was foolish, but perhaps would have been a good father to that child.

'This can't be happening,' Daylen thought.

His fingers took the chalice, but still he remembered what Duncan had said.

'You left me no choice Jory!'

That fire, that darkness, that rage Daylen buried rose up within him and he grit his teeth together like a wild animal.

"Bull...SHIT!" he yelled.

His elbow slammed into Duncan's cheek, much to Alistair's shock. The warden commander was thrown to the floor, looking up at the snarling Daylen.

"Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit, bullshit, BULLSHIT!" he yelled. "You spouted some vague crap about not being able to turn back, about duties that can't be foresworn. What about his duty as a husband and a father, what are they supposed to do now huh? Are you going to protect them? Support them in Jory's absence? You stop the blight, goodie, but is that all there is to it? Shouldn't we be protecting people from the darkspawn as much as we fight the darkspawn?"

He shook his head, and realised he was still holding the cup.

"Daylen," Duncan whispered.

"I am willing to fight, to protect people from the darkspawn, I will sacrifice my life if I have to. But it'll BE MY SACRIFICE! NO BODY ELSES!" Daylen yelled.

He pushed his lips against the cup and tilted it back. The blood flowed down his throat, and he felt a burning sensation on his skin. He nearly gagged, but he kept on gulping the contents of the cup down. Lifting the cup up as he finished it, he smashed it against the ground.

"If my beliefs don't align with your standards of a grey warden, then I'll crush that ideal of a warden," Daylen stated.

He stood tall, he stood defiant, he stood determined. And when his knees shook and he raised a hand to his head, for a moment Duncan and Alistair wondered if yet another had fallen to the joining. Daylen's eyes turned white and he gagged, head swaying back and forth as if he was going to vomit. But he snarled, hands squeezing into fists. First he heard an eerie and incoherent whispering in his mind. It grew louder and louder and suddenly, Daylen saw it. He'd seen pictures of dragons before, but what he saw was more than a dragon, it seemed to look at him and its raw penetrated his ear drums. His eyes went from clear white, to completely red, making the grey wardens step back in shock. Daylen took deep breaths and his eyes gradually began to return to normal. He stood tall for a moment, before falling to his knee.

"Daylen Amell," Duncan said as Daylen struggled to stand. "You are now a Grey warden!"

The young mage brushed aside Duncan's hand and stood by himself.

* * *

Westeros-King's landing

Stannis stood within the small council chamber, again the king would not be attending. The lord of Dragonstone bowed his head to the hand of the king before he took a seat. After Arryn came Varys, Baelish, Pycelle and Renly. The young 'prince' of the Baratheon's had bags under his eyes, a sign of his late nights hosting his parties. Stannis had no doubt that Robert was lying with a whore right now. He looked at the place that should have been occupied by his brother, now occupied by Arryn. Though in truth Stannis trusted Jon more with ruling that he did his brother.

"Let us call this to order, lord Renly, the captain of the city guard told me of the filling cells, the knight's watch is in need of recruits so send them there. Lords on the Eastern coastal regions made me aware of a great many raiders, those belonging to the Qunari people," Arryn explained.

"Actually my lord hand, those brigands were Tal Vashoth, renegades of the Qunari culture, their actions are no reflection of the Qunari people's intent," Varys explained.

"Qunari? Tal Vashoth?" Renly raised his eyebrows in confusion.

"Oh yes, I have heard of the Qunari, savage men with horns on their heads...they are said to put the Dothraki to shame," Pycelle said.

"Again maestar Pycelle you are misinformed, whilst true the Qunari are savage in battle, their culture is as advanced as our own, they simply have a different system of belief," Varys said.

"What kind of belief system?" Stannis asked, interested only in how it may help him fight them.

"Quite simply my lord they assign a role to each citizen, and they act within that role," Varys said.

Stannis could almost admire such purpose. Too many people in the kingdom contributed nothing, and either suffered for it or made the kingdom suffer.

"These renegade raiders however were killed by a band I believe was led by Fausten Amell," the spider went onto explain, to the shock of the other lords present.

Stannis though welcomed the idea that Fausten Amell had faked much of his 'insanity', the age related conditions that kept him from being a lord of the Meadow. The man was not content to be a ruler of a land, he was the type of man who wanted to be on the field, who wanted to walk amongst the people. He was not the kind of man who could make decisions for a grand scheme.

"Where is he going?" Baelish asked.

"To Essos I believe, his intention is 'to fight evil', yet I do not know what could be considered evil by his standards," Varys said.

"Enough concerning ourselves with the actions of Fausten Amell, is there any other business to discuss?" Arryn asked.

"Lady Revka has begun flooding the streets with charity, she has donated to numerous orphanages and small businesses, in fact she is beginning to gain as much money as...well," Baelish coughed nervously, and the members of the small council knew she was becoming a business rival of his.

Baelish had access to some ships, but his greatest source of income was his pleasure houses. That could only get him so much. From a business stand point, Baelish respected Revka's decision to support the local businesses. She invested in places that sold what people needed, markets, black smiths, carpenters and tailors. With one hand she accepted money, and with the other she gave it away to the places that supported children.

"If I may my lords, I believe she has inserted herself into the lives of the Queen and her children," Pycelle said.

"She is the queen's companion now," Stannis said.

In some ways he understood the queen, not that he liked her. Cersei Lannister was every bit her father's child, filled with entitlement, arrogance and a belief she was superior to all. So it was no surprise she had no friends. Stannis was the same way, he knew not many could bear his attitude and principles, and he had no real care. He had people he admired and respected of course, trusted advisors and generals, but there was only really one man he could consider his friend. The man wasn't high born, didn't have the best education and his beginnings weren't exactly honest. But Stannis counted on that man.

"Revka Amell would be a positive influence on the children," Renly said.

"Forgive me lord Renly, but, em, I do not believe that lady Revka would be a good influence," the Maestar trembled in his forced way. "You see it was not long ago that she defied Queen Cersei, she lost her hand because of it, one cannot trust foreigners and..."

"Grand Maestar, consider your company here," Arryn said, standing up and glaring at Pycelle. "We have before us those from the noblest of Westerosian houses, those whom came from the small folk, and those who crossed oceans and earned their places on this council. By disrespecting any of the above, you disrespect someone on this council, remember that," the lord of the Vale and hand of the king sat back down and placed his hands on the table, back to the image of calm.

Within the castle gardens, the said lady of the Amell's stood in her practical clothes. She had on her wrist a wooden hand and in her true hand a wooden sword. Revka laughed as Myrcella used a wooden sword of her own, clapping it against Revka's. Tommen stood a short distance, his hands shaking as he held his own wooden sword. Keeping a watchful eye was Jamie, wearing a smile as he watched his daughter play with a woman she had come to consider a second mother. Myrcella's laughing grew quiet however as Cersei walked into the garden, flanked by Lannister guards. She wore a stern look as she crossed the distance between herself and her children.

"Myrcella, your dress is dirty," she said, looking down at her second born.

"I was playing with Revka, I mean Lady Amell," Myrcella said.

Cersei took a few steps closer to her and lowered her knees so she could be more at Myrcella's height. A rare smile crossed her face as she whispered to her daughter.

"I used to practice swords in Jamie's place, spreading your legs is a bad way to hold the blade, one foot in front of the other is better," she stated and Myrcella smiled. "Help your brother practice, I must speak with Revka," Cersei said.

Myrcella nodded and went to her younger brother, taking him by his hands moving adjusting his grip of his sword. Jamie continued watching them, content that his sister's better side would continue to show itself with Revka around. The two women walked through the gardens, the guards behind them ignored by both.

"How is Dayla?" Cersei asked.

"She keeps picking fights with boys, she left the Meadow recently, last I heard she had gotten into fights with the hill tribes in the Vale, my father and daughter both intend to travel far it seems," Revka explained.

"Whilst duty demands your sons remain where they are, does Dayla not intend to marry?"

"Maker no, if she is to bind herself, it will be to a man of her choosing, for love not duty."

"Yet we cannot all have such freedom," Cersei said bitterly.

"No, we cannot all have such freedom," Revka agreed.

"I am glad you accepted my offer to come here Revka, in court, there can often be enemies at every turn, or at least obstacles. We need people we can trust in this world, as well as friends," Cersei smiled as she spoke.

"I agree, but often it is unnecessary, should the good of the realm not be what everyone in the royal court focuses on?" Revka asked.

"To be so naive is dangerous, everyone in the royal court is out for themselves," Cersei said.

"Not true, Stannis acts for what he believes to be the good of the realm, Varys acts for what he perceives to be the good of the realm, as does Jon Arryn. It is correct that some such as Pycelle and Baelish are out for themselves, but it isn't fair to judge all as such," Revka explained and smirked as Cersei laughed.

"You presume to lecture me on predicting others, yet you yourself have judged Baelish and Pycelle," the queen said.

"I suppose I have, but come your grace, speaking as the daughter of the man who pulled the greatest charade of all time, it's obvious to me that Pycelle fakes his weakness. You'd have to be a complete moron to trust Baelish to do what is best for someone other than himself," Revka explained and again Cersei laughed.

"Agreed, a complete fool, I have some Dornish wine in my room, perhaps we could drink together tonight," Cersei said.

"It would be a great pleasure and honour my queen," Revka bowed her head and left, walking to her own quarters.

Cersei smiled for most of that day, she had many reasons to be happy now with her friend beside her.

* * *

Ostagar

Rain had begun to fall on the men and women at Ostagar. The lines had been formed, and the army prepared. Daylen remembered standing in the war council at the king's request. It wasn't the strategy he would have chosen, but he was in no mood for talking. Daveth and Jory were still on his mind. In truth, he wasn't angry with Duncan anymore. He just found himself not caring what happened to the grey warden, even if the man died it wouldn't have bothered him.

'I suppose feeling that, makes me a bad person, or it means that something's wrong with me,' Daylen thought.

The army's strategy, other than waiting for reinforcements from Orlais was a flanking tactic. Cailan would join his troops with the Grey wardens and draw the darkspawn into an open fight. Alistair and Daylen would then light a fire at the tower of Ishal. This would give Loghain the signal to move in with his men and flank the horde. It was the best tactic when dealing with a force of superior numbers. When you outnumbered and opponent, you charged through. When you were outnumbered, you flank the enemy.

'Though Loghain didn't like that it was us,' Daylen remembered the Teryn's attempts to change Cailan's decision.

He also remembered the debate Loghain and Cailan had. Cailan wanted the reinforcements from Orlais, Loghain didn't, stating that Maric would be ashamed of his son delivering Fereden to the very people they struggled to liberate it from. The king insisted that their issues with Orlais was a thing of the past. But Loghain was not so forgiving, he still conceded to facing the dark spawn though. Loghain's army marched away and Daylen took position with Alistair on the fortress walls.

 _(Dragon Age OST-Ferelden at War)_

They stood watching over the army facing the forest. Mabari hounds barked and the men and women sweated, each one nervous about the force they would soon clash with. They didn't know whether the rustling in the bush or the movement of the trees was from the wind, or something else. Chantry sisters moved between the ranks, holding incense pots. Cailan and Duncan both walked to the front of the army, looking out at the forest.

"The plan will work your majesty," Duncan assured him.

"Of course it will, the blight ends here," Cailan said, determination in his eyes.

Then Daylen heard it, the whispers. They began quiet at first, then rose in volume. Yet the words were still unclear to him. He saw them moving through the trees, out of hiding. Lines, no ranks of them, fully armoured and armed for a war. Not raiders or ambushers, but soldiers, led by a commander. A Hurlock vanguard whom stood on a small hill, bound in grotesque army, his head covered by a horned helmet. It made less aggressive movements than the other darkspawn, all of whom snarled and flailed their arms about as if in a frenzy. A few men backed away, only for the person behind them to push them and get them focused again on the threat in front of them. Cailan took a few deep breaths and puffed his chest out, appearing brave for his men. The vanguard threw his hand forward. And just like that, as one the horde moved and began rushing towards the army.

"Archers," Cailan called out.

A line of fire had been ignited, and the archers stepped to the front of the army, lighting the tips of their arrows. On the castle walls, archers, including Marian Hawke lit their arrows and knocked them back. With a throw of the commander's hand, they released a flurry of arrows on the horde. One volley, much to Daylen's confusion.

"Keep hitting them," he found himself saying.

"HOUNDS!" Cailan yelled.

"Why?" Daylen asked, turning to Alistair.

"This is the king's plan, besides, Mabari charges were some of Ferelden's best tactics in war," Alistair said.

Daylen looked down at the hounds as they ran across the field. It wasn't a kennel, but an army of war dogs. Such a sight was amazing to behold, all those dogs moving towards one mass, all guided by the desire to kill their enemy. Against any other opponent, it would have driven fear into their hearts. Any love for dogs, or understanding of them would be driven away because of the sheer terror. But they were darkspawn, not men, and they slaughtered the dogs. A few mabari managed to pounce on the darkspawn, ripping into their jaws and flesh.

"FOR FERELDEN!" Cailan drew his sword and charged with the rest of the main force.

They ran and all the fear seemed gone, for the rush of battle, the need to protect what was behind them and kill what was in front of them. Swords clashed, maces and shields bashed through bone, teeth tore at flesh and magic sparked across the field. The battle for Ostagar had truly begun.

* * *

Edge of the wilds

 _(The Perfect World-Marty Friedman)_

The Witch of the wilds stood in her full gear. Spiked metallic gauntlets, a red tunic and a cross shaped head dress. Flemeth smirked as she looked upon the flaming projectiles flying in the distance at Ostagar.

"It has begun, a shame you didn't want to see your old friend before," she said, looking over her shoulder at the individual standing at the forest's edge.

"We both know that would signal my end, for I am compelled to kill him," he said and the witch laughed.

"He has a purpose that needs to be served, the gods must be preserved, or destroyed, who knows what choice he will make," Flemeth mused.

"I hope he decides to love her, to save the old gods," the man said.

"I never expected to hear that from you, you've made your feelings about him abundantly clear," Flemeth said.

"Oh do not mistake me old hag," the man said, turning to Flemeth.

He revealed his red coat and gold gauntleted hands. The bangs of his blonde hair hung in front of his eyes. Flemeth turned to her charge and grinned, interested in what he would do next.

"I hope that Daylen Amell will survive this, and all the other trials to come. We must meet again," he traced a hand over his chest, where an old scar was hidden. "I have to finish what I started at the tower after all," the blonde haired man grinned, his red eyes glowing as he laughed.

Flemeth joined him, but not for the blood he craved. She had organised quite a drama and was looking forward to seeing whether her two red eyed men would make it to Westeros, as she predicted many years ago.

Next Chapter 23: The battle of Ostagar part 2

* * *

Next time, the war continues and the Starks learn of Revion's justice.


	23. Chapter 23

Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Age or A Song of Ice and Fire, Durad Adaar is the creation of 00virtuezero

* * *

Game of Dragons

The ship had been crashing back and forth for hours now. Fausten heard Stone once again vomit. The hold was filled to the brim with people seeking a new life in Essos, low born with ideas to make a fortune, high born sons or wandering knights with ambitions of turning mercenary. In a way Fausten saw them as the men that could understand his group the most. Some of the warriors were as old as Fausten's group members. They were men tired of serving a lord, or lords tired of serving their realm. Many of the younger men had either come of their own accord, under the belief they would find honour in Essos, whilst others had been sent away by their families. Some out of shame, others to pursue some sort of foreign interest to further their power. Fausten saw men in need of a fight, a cause, and he intended to give it to them. Standing up without his spear, he brushed the dust off of his armour and walked into the middle of the ship.

"Here he goes," Ulrich said.

"Let's see what he says to draw their fancy," Darius grinned.

"When we land in the city of Essos, you will all struggle to find work, I will not," Fausten said, drawing the attention of some of the men.

He walked around some of the warriors, one hand on his hip and a smile on his face.

"And why will you not struggle to find work?" asked an older knight, his pole arm resting on his shoulder.

"Because I already have a job, I already know of a battle of which great fortunes can be claimed," Fausten stated, putting extra emphasis on battle and fortune.

Those were the things these men craved. Riches and battle, or both, or one, either way they sought out these things because they were the only things they knew. Battle was their skill, their drive and the means by which they could sate their desires, or meet an end.

"And pray tell where would this battle be?" asked another knight.

"There is no great battle, he bluffs," laughed another.

"There is a great battle, the kind that, if you achieve victory in, you will be recognised throughout Essos as a legend, because you brought down the best. Because you defeated the undefeated, conquered the unconquerable, stand with me and I will show you where this battle is and if I have lied to you, if you are not satisfied, then I will pay each of you five gold coins. They say a soldier's life is worth twenty silvers, it is worth more to me," Fausten explained.

"I'll take that deal," spoke a voice in the corner of the ship.

Fausten looked to the young teen who had his hand raised. He sat against the wall, a pair of knives on his belt and cheap mercenary leathers on his body. When Fausten took a closer look, he saw that the teen had bronze skin, pointy ears and curved horns. A Kossith, a Vashoth seeking a fortune.

"Meravas young one, is it battle you seek, or does the Ben-Hassrath seek an answer in Essos?" Fausten asked.

The young Vashoth frowned at the mention of the Qunari spies, and hunters of the Tal-Vashoth.

"I'm here for gold and food, Durad Adaar is my name," he pronounced the name with pride that he bore one.

"Five gold coins eh? It would be easier than proving oneself to the golden company," said a young woman, whom had been sharpening a spear blade, the handle had been snapped apart.

Fausten recognised the woman as a marcher, her accent indicating she was from Hercinia. She wore a leather breast plate commonly made in that area, her tanned skin also gave away that she was from the warm region of the Marches.

"So long as it takes me far from Ironrath," spoke a face Fausten recognised.

Asher Forrester, a man exiled from his home for loving the daughter of a family enemy. Again with the first three volunteers, Fausten was reminded that this was a ship filled with different people. And when he saw the doubt in some of their eyes, he knew that they would be heading in the same direction.

* * *

House Amell of Westeros

Chapter 23: Battle of Ostagar part 2: breaching the Tower

Daylen was frozen in shock, his grandfather had told him of the many battles he had fought as a mercenary, and he had read of great battles in the Free Marches and Ferelden's revolt against Orlais. But being witness to a real battle was something else entirely. Shock and fear had froze him, but something else made his heart beat faster. That rage, that rush he had felt when he fought Leo, it all came back to him. A great ball of fire slammed into the ground, throwing debris into Daylen's eyes. He heard the whooshing of arrows on both sides and felt the brunt of the explosions. There was no magic in the projectiles that slammed into the walls on the Ferelden army's side. The Dark spawn had forged catapults, and used bundles of vines around rocks that they lit on fire.

"MOVE! MOVE!" he heard men scream.

A row of archers ran for cover as a flaming projectile slammed into the ground near them. Another projectile hit a stone pillar, sending it crashing on top of several of the men.

"We need to get to the tower," Alistair said.

Daylen was tempted to nod his head in agreement, then he saw the wounded soldiers around him. Gritting his teeth together in frustration, Daylen broke off into a run. He pulled his staff from his back and pointed it at the pillar trapping the men. The tip of the staff sparked before Daylen tapped it against the ground. Slowly, the gravity around the rocks shifted, lifting them off of the men, giving their allies a chance to pull them free.

"Don't waste time Daylen," Alistair said, then looked at the sky and widened his eyes in horror. "INCOMING!" he pulled his shield from his back.

A volley of flaming arrows came down from the sky. Alistair had a shield, but the other men weren't so lucky. Daylen gripped his staff with both hands, then slammed it into the ground. A dome of light covered the group, deflecting the arrows. Alistair lowered his shield, looking at the dome in shock. He knew Daylen was recruited for a reason, but he didn't realise he was capable of such feats. With a wave of his hand, Daylen ignited the arrows the recovered archers knocked back. They repaid the Darkspawn assault with a volley of their own.

On the darkspawn front, arrows slammed into the archers. The Vanguard looked at his thralls dying and huffed in annoyance. He threw his hand forward, the humans had been foolish enough to release their hounds, it was time for them to face blighted wolves.

Daylen put his staff back on his back and turned to Alistair.

"We'll make our way to the tower, but let's see what we can help with on the way," he said.

Alistair had no objection and nodded his head in agreement. The pair left the archers to continue their volley and ran through the camp. Daylen ducked, avoiding an arrow that flew past him. He picked a shield up off of the ground and began using it alongside Alistair with his shield. Arrows struck both their shields.

"It seems the Darkspawn had the same idea as you," Alistair said.

* * *

On the battlefield, the warriors of Ferelden were deadlocked with the Darkspawn. But there was something turning the tide in favour of the spawn. Volleys of arrows pelted the fighters, striking both human and Darkspawn alike. Duncan watched as Gregor, a veteran Warden was hit in the knee and his shoulder. A Hurlock then slammed its axe into his side. Duncan stabbed that Hurlock through the throat, but he was too late to save his friend. Around the warden commander, other wardens had been hit by the arrows, or held in place by the darkspawn.

"They kill more of their own allies than ours," Cailan said, beheading a Genlock.

"There is no danger of them running out of bodies," Duncan retorted.

He shoulder barged a Hurlock in the back, stabbing his sword through its head. Cailan swung his great sword magnificently, cutting down two enemies at a time. A Hurlock made him stumble with a barely deflected axe strike. Cailan adjusted his footing, parrying the Hurlock's next blow and punching it with his fist. An armoured gauntlet against bare flesh, the Hurlock simply snarled and struck the side of Cailan's head with the pommel of its axe. Cailan's vision blurred and he slammed to the floor. A knife suddenly flew into the Hurlock's neck. Duncan rushed the monster, pulling his knife free and slashing the Hurlock twice with his sword.

"Get up my king," Duncan pulled the dazed man to his feet. "That was too close, you need to pull back," he said.

"No," Cailan defiantly moved forward. "We make our stand here!"

* * *

Daylen dropped his shield, it was already coated with arrows. Alistair too would have to replace his shield, but it was a better design than the fallen one Daylen had picked up. The barrage of arrows and other projectiles had begun to grow more intense, leading the two men to hide behind a cart, alongside a few others. They were men that didn't have shields or armour that could deflect arrows.

"Fucking Darkspawn, it's like a hail," one of the men said.

"A what?" Daylen asked.

"Hail stones, where the fuck have you been lad?" another soldier asked.

Daylen realised there were probably a few weather events he hadn't gotten to witness after being in the tower. Maybe if Anders hadn't tried to escape he could have. Focusing on the now, Daylen hugged the cart with his back, an arrow landing near his foot. He looked underneath the cart and saw that men were hiding. The stench of shit and piss stung his nostrils, but still he focused. Daylen looked at the cart again, it wasn't carrying armour, but hay for horses. It had already begun to catch fire. Then he looked at the path ahead, how the ledge curved

"Hold the cart," Daylen said to Alistair and the man next to him. "Hold the cart," he repeated to the other men.

"What are you thinking?" Alistair asked.

"Just do it," Daylen grabbed the underneath of the cart and pushed.

Seeing what he was doing, Alistair and the other men pulled on the sides of the cart, or underneath it.

"LIFT!" Daylen yelled, putting all his strength into lifting the cart over his head.

He was just one out of many muscles lifting the cart, creating a much more affective shelter from the arrows.

"Now move, MOVE FORWARD!" Daylen roared.

"You heard him MOVE!" Alistair yelled.

They began moving the cart forward, over the stones that kept it in place, through the dirt and grass. Then downhill, towards the ledge.

"Wait, it needs more," Daylen said.

"What?" Alistair looked at Daylen in shock.

They had let go of the cart, but Daylen remained on it, he threw his hand forward, shooting ice towards the ledge. Concentrating hard on the volume of ice he materialised, and the shape he formed, he created a ramp. Then he jumped off of the cart, breaking off into a run alongside it. As it went over the ramp, Daylen lit the hay and the cart itself on fire, the draft increasing the carts speed. It became a projectile, flying across the field as if it had been launched by a catapult. The cart slammed into a line of darkspawn rushing towards the allied army. Recovering their initial shock, the Ferelden forces pushed forward with the assault. Daylen uncorked a greater lyrium potion and poured the contents down his throat.

"Well done, now to the tower?" Alistair asked.

"Definitely," Daylen nodded his head and followed Alistair.

They came to the great bridge, where Ballista had been positioned. As soon as they stepped onto the bridge, a rock flew into the siege weapon nearest them, throwing it at the crew on it off of the bridge. Daylen stopped himself from watching the men screaming and flailing, stopped himself from caring about how painful their deaths would be. Instead he pushed Alistair forward and ran at a full sprint. They ran faster than they ever had in their life, Daylen felt his breathing become laboured, but he still ran. Rocks and fire crashed into the path behind them, one took a chunk off of the bridge and Daylen heard the cracks spreading. Both felt the bridge begin to give way as they jumped onto the grass. Daylen looked back at the bridge and saw the rocks falling. He breathed out a sigh of relief and began regaining his bearings. Looking up he saw the true height of the tower of Ishal, and understood how it could cast shadows over the rest of the army.

"We're nearly there, let's go," Alistair said.

The wardens were about to march forward, when they saw a pair of men running towards them. They stopped, out of breath and looks of terror on their faces.

"You men, what's going on?" Alistair asked.

"The tower of Ishal has been taken," one of them said.

"The Teryn's men are being slaughtered, we've lost the tower," said the other.

Alistair gasped and Daylen walked past him, looking at the two men with his eyes narrowed.

"Take us there now," he said firmly.

Even if the tower was taken, they still had a duty.

* * *

Duty, it was what defined the life of a lord. If a lord did not fulfil his duty, then he was not worthy of his land. He was to be loyal to his wife, his children, his gods, his king and the law. Regardless of whether he loved his wife, liked his king, or believed in the law, he had to stay true to them all. This Eddard Stark had heard his father teach his brother Brandon. It was his brother who was supposed to be a leader, his brother who was supposed to be marry Catelyn, and his brother whom was supposed to hold the duty of the lord of Winterfell. But all of that had fallen onto Ned's lap. Many times Ned had fulfilled his duty, had passed sentence, for that was what was expected. The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword, that was the way of most Northern lords. Ned had killed men he could sympathise with, but it was his duty under the law to do so.

The lord of Winterfell was sitting by the heart tree, sharpening his sword when his captain of the guard, Ser Jory ran behind him. Ned looked over his shoulder, seeing the eerie look in Jory's eyes. He was frightened, which came as a shock to Ned. The man had proven himself in the Greyjoy rebellion, killing many of the rebels. Ned trusted his sword arm and loyalty, Jory was no tactician but he was brave. So it was a shock to see disgust and fear written across Jory's scarred features.

"My lord, I'm sorry to interrupt you, but there has been an incident in the castle," Jory said.

Ned sheathed his sword, finished his prayers and followed Jory. It was early morning, everything should have been fine. Prisoners in the cells were awaiting the arrival of Yoren of the Nights watch. When Ned got to the cells, he was shocked to see that the doors had been broken into.

"What happened here?" he asked Jory.

"The guard was found unconscious in the morning, he says the last thing he remembered was hearing a whistle before someone hit him in the back of the head," Jory explained.

"I'm so sorry milord, I'm so sorry," the guard said, eyes red, he was clearly distraught and regretful.

Few in Winterfell wanted to disappoint their lord. It wasn't because he was a wrathful man, they simply loved him too much. Jory led Ned into the cells, and it was then that Ned began to understand why Jory had been so disturbed earlier. Two cells had been emptied, both having belonged to thieves as Ned recalled. But another one still had the prisoner inside. He was on his knees, head forced back, blood was on the floor and Ned stepped closer to the body. That was when he noticed that the man's trousers had been pulled down, and his cock and balls had been removed.

"My lord," Maester Yuwin stepped out of the corner, his own skin pale.

"This man raped a girl, could the father have returned to enact vengeance?" Ned asked and both men remained silent. "To cut the man's..."

"My lord forgive me, but they were not cut off," Yuwin said.

Ned looked at him in shock, his eyes demanding an explanation.

"They were torn off my lord, ripped clean off by someone with the strength to hold his neck to keep him from screaming out, but it didn't end there my lord, he..." Yuwin paused and Ned walked closer to the body.

He did not know the Maester to be a queasy man. But when he saw the murdered man's face, he understood. Someone had knocked out the guard, picked the locks of the cell doors, releasing two men bound for the watch. But the third man, had his cock torn off, and then rammed down his mouth. And it hadn't been a slow process, they had not been fed to him, but smashed through his teeth like a rock. Ned wasn't sure whether the man bled to death, chocked to death or died because of the trauma of the hit, his jaw was out of place, keeping his mouth open in a way no human mouth was supposed to be. The man whom this rapist had wronged was not responsible, his hands were meant for shaping clay. He was a delicate man, but good for making arrows and hunting. The man didn't have the strength in his arms to do damage to someone like this.

"This is savagery and rage, I've only known the Mountain to possess such strength," Ned said.

* * *

 _(Marty Friedman-The Perfect World)_

The hooded man walked through the Northern plains. He walked without any companions, he walked alone. Those he had released from the confines of the Stark's, he would have serve new roles. He stood when he heard something, the ragged breathing of hungry individuals. They were wildlings, lucky enough to get past the wall. Unlucky enough to be pointing knives and make shift spears at him. Shrugging off his coat, he turned and revealed to the Wildlings muscles they never seen North of the wall. The man picked up a stone, tossing it up and down for a moment. Suddenly, he threw the rock into the face of the man in front of him, smashing his teeth out of his mouth. The hooded man was instantly on the man, grabbing him by his neck and lifting him off of the ground.

Consumed by shock the other two men remained still. The man was no giant, he was tall, but not lumbering and he certainly didn't tower over others. But looking at the man in front of them, holding their friend by his neck, their friend's legs dangling off of the ground, they saw not a man but a monster. There was a cracking sound and their friend stopped his struggling. He was dropped to the floor and the hooded man began walking towards them. They had sharpened sticks into formidable spears, and they aimed their weapons at the man. Both thrust their spears towards the man's chest. No matter how big, or strong the man, a spear through the heart was still fatal. But the hooded man grabbed the shafts of both spears, standing like a statue as the two men struggled to push them through his grip.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry," the hooded man said.

He suddenly snapped the spears, stabbing both men with the perfectly sharpened tips. One went through the chin and mouth, and the other through the neck, spraying blood across the grass. Lifting his hood off of his head, Revion looked at the bodies and shook his head. They were such a waste, they weren't even why he had originally come to the North. But justice at least was done, and that man and his daughter could at least find a new home in the Meadow, new names and new roles to play. Revion put his hood back on, picked up his coat and began his long walk back to the Meadow.

 _(End OST)_

* * *

King's Landing

Each child of the king had their own personal rooms. Joffrey as the oldest and heir to the throne had the largest, and room closest to his mother and father's chambers. He would also have three guards at all times, one of the kings guard, and two Lannister men. It was a rarity for Revka to go near his room. But every now and then she would catch a glimpse of the young prince, practicing how to smile to people. He reminded her of Revion in that regard. Both were very different from what other people thought of as normal. She approached the room, raising her hand as she approached.

"I request to see the prince," she said.

"The Prince is preparing for his sleep," one of the Lannister men said.

"I am a mother, I've seen pubescent boys naked, I've even seen a few men naked good sirs, many of you like to think there's something unique about your bodies, but trust me...most cocks and chests fall into the same category. Now rest assured I have no intention of trying to seduce the prince, I don't really like blonde men. If it puts your mind at ease, then you can gladly follow me inside and stand watch," Revka explained.

"I will go with her, you two stay here," said Meryn Trant, member of the kings guard.

He was a capable enough fighter, so long as it was against someone weaker than him. Which made him about as strong as the average fighter, he didn't excel himself like some of the other kings guard members. In fact the new generation of kings guard members consisted of men eclipsed by the achievements of the previous generation, the price of a kings guard formed during peace.

"Very well, after you good sir," Revka said.

"No, after you," Trant insisted and Revka smirked.

She walked into the prince's room. The guard's explanation of him preparing for bed was exaggerated. Joffrey was already in bed, reading a book with only half an interest. He looked up at Revka as she entered, his eyebrow twitching into a frown.

"Why have you come here?" he demanded.

"It has been some time since we last met prince, I wanted to wish you a good night, and to present you with a gift," Revka removed from underneath her arm a pair of books.

"What is that?" Joffrey asked.

"A book, it is a catalogued history of Maegor the Cruel, with some artistic license of course and speculation. I reasoned that telling you a story would be useless, so I would simply give you one to read," Revka explained.

Joffrey took the book Revka offered him.

"Thank you," he said the words uneasily, and unwilling to look at Revka as she bowed.

"Good night prince, I will take my leave," Revka said, turning on her heels towards Meryn Trant and the door.

"Was Maegor...truly as cruel as people say?" Joffrey asked.

Revka turned to the prince, thinking for a moment on her own studies on Maegor the first.

"He was an incredible warrior, a born one others may say. But that was his problem, he always saw a fight, he always saw an insult. Being a leader, regardless of whether you are a king or a lord is about balance. Maegor's fault was that he was too cruel, and I apologise in advance but your great grandfather Tytos was too forgiving," Revka explained.

"My grandfather tries to tell me as much," Joffrey said.

"It's not wrong to be kind or to ignore insults, sometimes it's better to return home with a grudge and your ego bruised than to race to a foolish confrontation. Throughout history there have been instances of people who have rushed into their own fall, there are very few rulers who have mastered the balance, cruel to be kind, kind but cruel. Even some of the greatest stories speak of the fall of kings, hero during one era, a tyrant in the next!"

For the first time since Revka had known Joffrey, she could see genuine interest in his face. Taking a chair from the dining table, Revka sat closer to Joffrey's bed and rested her hands on her hips.

"I recall the tale of a city in the Free Marches. Many places in the marches appoint their leaders you see. During a time of war, a city leader can have absolute authority. Though the tale has often changed dependent on the person telling it, the end has remained the same. This leader, a great wolf some say, was tactically brilliant and he won many battles. People praised him as a hero of the city, a true trail blazer who could form a great empire if he wished. But there were those amongst his council who were concerned, concerned that he would take power. They grew concerned that they would be his servants and not servants of the people. So they made a plan, keeping some of his greatest allies busy, they drew him to a council meeting. Sixty men, all of them dedicated to their city state, lunged upon their leader, a few stabbing him and many more holding him down. He was stabbed twenty three times," Revka explained.

She heard Trant gulp behind him, an uneasy expression crossed Joffrey's face.

"All of those men, those traitors," he snarled.

"To a degree yes, they still had loyalty to one thing, their home. Many thought they were genuinely doing the right thing. It wasn't as if he hadn't given them reason, he made reforms that agitated high born and low born alike. When you're a leader, you have to find a balance, did you know tyrant was derived from the word tyrannos? There was no preference to a leaders character, they were a leader, they were tyrannos. All leaders in a way have been tyrants, I do not doubt that. When you become king prince, you will inevitably displease someone. Just don't go out of your way to displease everyone, try not to be a tyrant otherwise you'll end up just being another Maegor!"

"Are you threatening the prince?" Meryn demanded.

"No you ignorant fool, I'm stating a fact, history gets written, stories get told and it is our actions, not our demands that decide how that history is written, it won't be perfect Joffrey, just make sure your history is as good as one as it can be," Revka explained.

Joffrey still looked uneasy, nodding his head for a moment before he looked out of his window.

"Thank you for your council, now leave," he said.

His voice wasn't as harsh as Revka expected it to be, but it was still snide and spoilt. Her work done, Revka left the prince and walked to the chambers of another.

* * *

Ostagar

Daylen ran with Alistair and the two men to the tower of Ishal. Several men were already there, including the pair of siblings that Daylen remembered seeing earlier. Marian Hawke was firing arrows around the cover of a pillar, alongside a few other archers. A Darkspawn arrow flew into the head of an archer beside her, making her gulp and back out of range. Daylen saw one of the noblemen leading the soldiers was dead, he crouched low and joined the soldiers as they turned to Alistair.

"Darkspawn got into the tower somehow, they starting slaughtering everyone inside, then they formed this defensive formation. Damn monsters, it's as if they're organised," one of the men explained.

"They are organised," Daylen said.

"Impossible, this would have to be a Blight," said another soldier.

"You should approach this as if it is a Blight."

"You're not even in Grey Warden armour, what are you a fresh recruit?"

"He is a grey warden," Alistair said, firmly to the soldiers who doubted Daylen.

The young mage shuffled his head as close to the edge of the pillar as he could. He looked at the darkspawn forces, counting them.

'Thirteen Genlock at the front, ten Hurlock's at the back, two Alphas, one emissary.'

An arrow brushed past his ear, drawing blood from it. Daylen gripped the area, feeling that a small piece of flesh had been taken off of it. Nothing that would permanently damage his hearing, but it would leave a noticeable scar. Heating the tip of his fingers, he cauterised the cut. Then he applied ice to soothe it and avoid infection.

"What should we do, we don't have the men to face them," one of the soldiers said.

"We should fall back!"

"Shut up, if we flee this battle is lost."

"The battle is already lost."

"Why don't we just climb it?"

"Oh really, it's that simple is it? Who here is a master climber all of a sudden?"

Daylen looked towards the arguing soldiers. Only the lady archer and her brother didn't get involved. Then there was a the ginger haired woman with the Orlesian sword. Even though she was an officer, she wasn't going to waste her time trying to input anything. The men speaking were from varied backgrounds. Three poor men in simple coat of arms, four men that had had armour given to them and two nobles in the finest, but untested armour. Alistair was trying to get a word in, but didn't seem to be able to catch their attention. Daylen then looked around, some men were already dead by arrows, but they had left shields and spears behind.

"We break through!"

They looked at him before he even realised he spoke. Daylen took a breath, not one they would notice. He was afraid and unsure of himself, one part of him telling himself that these men didn't want to know his opinion. Another part just ploughed through that insecurity, disregarded consequence and thought only of moving forward.

"I have a plan," he said.

 _(2WEI-Catapult)_

The darkspawn had been bored before, but when the humans came out of their hiding places, they raised their heads in surprise. One of the Alphas let out a laugh, raising his hammer over his shoulder and throwing his arm forward. The humans began linking their shields together as the Darkspawn archers drew back their bow strings. They let loose the volley, and the arrows slammed into the dome of shields. One pierced through, nearly catching Alistair's eye.

"KEEP STEADY! MOVE FORWARD STEP BY STEP!" Daylen yelled.

One step at a time they moved forward, a small gap in the shields enough for them to know where they were going. Daylen counted the steps in his head, the exact steps until they reached the ranks of darkspawn. He felt the shield shake when the darkspawn arrows hit it again.

"This is madness, this is madness," one of the noble men panicked, breaking off of the side of the shield wall.

An arrow flew through the side of his neck, bringing him to the floor.

"STAY IN FORMATION!" the woman with the Orlesian sword yelled.

She yelled the commands better than Daylen did. And the shield wall was only as effective as it was because of her insight. This Aveline woman seemed to be a born protector.

"An Emissary!" Alistair called out.

The darkspawn emissary slammed its staff against the ground, spreading fire through it. Daylen concentrated as hard as he could, focusing his magic through his weapon as the emissary had. As the emissary blasted a fireball towards the shield wall, Daylen applied a weapon enhancing spell. Except it wasn't fire or ice, but Earth, with the addition of a mana protection spell. Applied through every linked shield, Daylen spent his mana and offered the best defence. Wooden shields became as hard as iron.

"On my order, three, two, ONE!" Daylen yelled.

At his word, a section of the wall was pulled off, giving an archer room to shoot his crossbow. The bolt flew into a Genlock spearmen.

"Three, two, ONE!" again, a different section of the wall broke off and a spear was thrown, missing the emissary.

The Darkspawn mage unleashed lightning from its finger tips. Daylen grit his teeth together, putting more mana into the protection spell. He yelled, feeling his arm shake from the strain. Magic was flowing through his veins, faster than it should have. His scarred arm felt like it had when it was first burned and even with the armour on it, it felt as if he was lifting a heavy weight. Daylen was going to fall back, when Alistair pushed the small of his back, keeping him moving forward with the others.

"THE EMISSARY! KILL THE EMISSARY!" Daylen yelled.

Marian drew back her bow, just as the shield protecting her was slid aside. She fired, holding her breath as the arrow flew. It struck through the eye of the emissary, knocking him to the ground.

"FORWARD!" Aveline yelled.

Daylen continued his counting. When he reached the ideal number, he bellowed.

"SPEARS!"

Four spears slid out of the shield wall, piercing the Hurlock and Genlock spearmen in front of them. The group adjusted the shield wall and threw their spears forward again. Again they pierced the throats and chests of their enemies.

"NOW BREAK OFF!" Daylen yelled.

 _(Fate Apocrypha OST-Battle Soundtrack)_

The warriors dropped, or pulled their shields aside. And Daylen thrust his staff forward, unleashing a wall of spikes that pierced through the wall of Darkspawn in front of them. Their numbers dwindled, the Darkspawn flew into a rage that matched the high morale of the soldiers. Alistair drew his sword, beheading a Hurlock. Marian's brother, Carver lunged forward with his great sword, impaling a Genlock. He quickly pulled the blade free and slashed a Hurlock across the chest. Marian stabbed a Hurlock through the sides of the head with her dual daggers, and Aveline knocked another to the ground, savagely beating it with her shield. The other soldiers stabbed, slashed and bashed, the fear that had gripped them earlier gone. Daylen fell behind the group, his mana drained.

"KEEP MOVING! BREAK THROUGH THEM!" the nobleman yelled, before his head was smashed by an Alpha's hammer.

Daylen gathered his nerves and yelled. He moved forward, breaking off a piece of the ice spike. Brandishing it as a dagger, he stabbed it through a gap in the first Alpha's armour. The attack angered the Alpha, who backhanded Daylen and brought him to the floor. A Hurlock swung its sword down on Daylen, and Daylen quickly raised his gauntleted arm, deflecting the blade. He rolled to the side, barely dodging the first Alpha's hammer. Alistair stabbed the second Alpha through the chest, knocking it off of his sword with his shield.

"DAYLEN!" he yelled, seeing the Darkspawn gang up on the mage.

A Genlock raised its axe over its head. But Daylen quickly hit it with his staff, sending it bawling across the floor. He grabbed the axe, then swung it into the neck of the Hurlock. The young mage jumped back as the Alpha mercilessly bashed the dying the Hurlock aside. It was consumed by the singular desire to kill Daylen. Marian stabbed a Hurlock through the belly, then beheading it before she turned to the Alpha attacking Daylen.

"CARVER!" she called out to her brother, who had just finished stomping a Genlock's face in.

He rushed towards the Alpha, swinging his sword wide and catching the Alpha's gut. The force of the blow made the Alpha stumble to the side. Aveline then ran towards it, cutting its arm off. Alistair picked up a Darkspawn spear and pierced through the Alpha's head, snapping the handle off and throwing the weapon aside in disgust.

 _(End OST)_

"Are you all right?" he asked Daylen.

The mage looked at the gauntlet, it was undamaged, but his arm was still shaking. Though it wasn't his first time encountering the darkspawn, the fight had felt much more intense than any confrontation that they had with one another in the wilds.

"Take a few breaths, try to keep your distance next time, going in close like that was reckless," Alistair whispered to him.

Daylen nodded his head, and walked ahead of Alistair, towards the open door of the tower of Ishal. He took a mana potion out of his pack and drank the contents. It recovered some of his mana, but not all he had lost during the charge.

"You three, with me and Alistair," Daylen commanded two of the heavily armoured men, and one of the archers. "The rest of you, hold this line, guard it like a damn bear guarding its damn cave!"

The remaining men (and two women) looked at him for a moment.

"Damn bear guarding its damn cave, couldn't you have put on a fiercer voice? Or where you trying to sound like Loghain, pretty sure he wouldn't say something like that," Marian said and a few of the men laughed.

Daylen laughed nervously.

"No need to be **embearassed**!" Marian chuckled.

"All right that's enough," Aveline said.

"You can count on us," Carver said.

"We won't let you down," Marian nodded her head, looking at Daylen with respect and reassurance.

Daylen took a few steps towards the door. Then he looked over his shoulder at the seven he had left behind.

"If it at all feels..."he began, stopping when he felt unsure of what he was saying.

It wasn't the sort of thing a leader should say. Part of him was telling him to just tell the soldiers to forget it. They had a duty, to hold the line so that he and Alistair could play their part in the battle. But that wasn't the kind of leader Daylen wanted to be.

"Close the gate behind us, guard it for as long as you can, but if it at all seems as if the darkspawn can break through, I want you all to retreat," he explained.

Though Marian, Carver and Aveline seemed hesitant, they nodded their heads after the other men acknowledged Daylen's command. Daylen looked at Marian and Carver again, seeing their traits and dark hair. Then their eyes, eyes bright blue like glowing lyrium. Marian was a dead ringer for Leandra.

"Stay safe, cousins!" Daylen whispered before he and Alistair ran with their companions into the tower of Ishal.

Next Chapter 24: Battle of Ostagar part 3: Through the tower

* * *

Hope everyone enjoyed the chapter, I particularly enjoyed writing the last part.


	24. Chapter 24

Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Age or A song of Ice and Fire

* * *

House Amell of Westeros

Chapter 24: The battle of Ostagar part 3: Through the tower

 _(Fate/Stay Night UBW OST-Blazing Ashes)_

Upon entering the tower, Daylen and his group immediately faced a group of Darkspawn. An emissary threw a fireball towards the group. Daylen slammed his staff into the ground, creating a surge of electricity that split the flames apart, sending them crashing into the wall. He thrust the staff, throwing an ice spell into the Emissary's heart. Alistair and the other two melee fighters rushed forward, clashing with the other dark spawn. The low born man with the light armour took an arrow out of the quiver on his hip. Knocking back his bow, he looked around the room, firing at a Genlock that walked through one of the doors. Alistair sliced a Hurlock across the gut and ran towards the Darkspawn group coming out of the right doorway. He blocked an axe strike, slashing the Hurlock in the side. Then he side stepped the sword swipe of a Genlock, smashed its head with his shield before stabbing it through the arm pit. The archer fired another arrow, hitting a Hurlock between the eyes.

"We move to the left, that's the quickest way to the tower spire," Daylen said.

He released fire from his hand, burning a Hurlock until it went to the ground. The two men in heavy armour rushed to join Daylen. One swung his axe through the head of a Genlock, and the other stabbed his spear through the mouth of a Hurlock. Daylen stopped, sensing more Darkspawn beyond the door. He gathered his mana, and released a shockwave on the wall. The ceiling and the wall came down on the darkspawn waiting to ambush them. As the two soldiers ran to finish the fallen darkspawn off, Daylen drank another Mana potion.

"Fire of my soul, empower the blades of these warriors!"

The mage raised his gauntleted hand, surrounded by flames. A flame that passed through the blades of Alistair and the other two soldiers. Alistair swung his flaming sword easily through the flesh of the darkspawn. The flames swept through the air with every slash and thrust. Daylen and the archer ran behind the three warriors, the spearmen plunged his weapon through the chest of an Alpha, before Alistair beheaded it and then cut a Genlock in half.

'Words carry power, words can focus your spells better than simple concentration,' Daylen remembered Irving's teachings well.

In truth though he didn't like speaking the words for spells, they were announcements of his intentions, broadcasts for his attacks. But they did assist the weaving of the spells. Mages sometimes associated their spells with different chants or words, their minds and bodies reacted to those words, making the casting of those spells simple.

"Let my thunderous wrath pass through their blades!"

Lightning surged around his arm, and with a thrust of his hand it passed into the blades of the warriors. The spear man stabbed a Genlock, and the lightning chained through the two darkspawn behind it.

 _(Fate Zero-The battle is to the strong)_

The archer fired one arrow after another, drawing his knife as a Hurlock with an axe ran towards him. A blast suddenly struck the Hurlock, throwing him into the wall so hard his neck broke. The archer looked to Daylen and nodded his head in appreciation.

"Move forward now," Daylen commanded.

Alistair sheathed his sword, picking up a pike from the ground. He stabbed two Hurlocks who came at him, then swung the pike in a wide arc, slashing two more Hurlocks before he tripped up a Genlock. Alistair raised the pike over his head, stabbing it through the Genlock's throat. He backed away, adjusting the angle he thrust the pike, killing one opponent after another.

"They've really filled the tower," one of the soldiers noted.

"Can we truly take it back?" asked the other.

"That isn't the goal, the goal is to get to the top and light that signal fire. Once Loghain turns the tide, darkspawn numbers will fall," Daylen explained.

He slammed his staff into the ground, electricity surging around him. Red marks passed through his skin and he yelled. The surge of power from accessing a tree of magic nearly forbidden to him was.

"Tree of creation, pass the fruit onto these warriors, hasten their steps, sharpen their eyes, help them GO BEYOND THEIR LIMIT!" Daylen slammed his staff into the ground and released a shockwave of green and red energy.

That energy sparked around the warriors, and even the archer. Alistair looked at his hand curiously, and then realised what had happened.

"So this is the effect of haste, thank you Daylen," he said.

Faster the warriors moved, and the archer darted across the room, grabbing arrows from the fallen and firing them into his enemies. Daylen kept up his focus, both his will and words were put into the spell and maintaining their effects. He widened his eyes for a moment as a Hurlock Alpha came towards him. A blade suddenly burst through the Alpha's throat.

"Keep up focus Daylen, I'll support you," Alistair reassured him.

With every step Daylen took forward, the warriors he had empowered killed another monster. They led him up the steps to the next level. Alistair and the spearmen rapidly thrust their spears through the flesh of the darkspawn blocking their way. When their weapons finally broke, they drew their swords. Alistair kicked a Genlock through the door to the first floor, breaking its neck with his shield as the other two warriors spread out and began killing anything in their way. The archer toppled over a library case, crushing three Genlocks. They came to a narrow corridor filled with archers. Daylen moved ahead of the group, drawing the haste, lightning and fire back to him. His mana pool recharged and he threw his hand forward. The fireball he lunched burnt the ground beneath it, melting the arrows the darkspawn fired and consuming them. His allies looked at the burnt corridor, filled with scorched armour and crumbling tapestries, and then watched as Daylen gulped down the contents of another Mana potion.

"Keep moving, the battle isn't over yet," he said.

Despite his shaking arm, they were further inspired by his steel like determination. They ran with him and onwards to the next floor.

 _(End OST)_

* * *

Westeros

Dayla looked up at the starlit sky and smiled. Something told her that somewhere, very far away, something incredible was happening.

"Are you sure you want to distract yourself my dear?"

She turned to her hosts, Prince Oberon Martell. Since leaving the Vale, Dayla opted for a warmer climate. She went to Dorne and requested of the Viper a friendly match. Oberon however declined and instead directed Dayla to his daughters. Obara and Nymeria Sand, Sand Snakes, one of many bastard daughters that Oberyn had. Obara was spinning and thrusting a spear around, the same make that Oberyn would use, a simple spiked blade and a shaft that could bend. Nymeria was more beautiful than Obara, but no less deadly, Dayla knew the woman had more knives on her than just her twin daggers.

"Are you sure you don't want to change your mind about sparring?" Dayla asked, stretching her arms before she took her spear off of the ground.

Both Sand snakes paused, looking at the spear that had slain the Mountain. Fausten Amell was considered a hero in Dorne, one of the few that would be welcomed with open arms. Ned Stark was one who was noted for speaking out against the murder of Elia and her children, yet still people remembered Lyanna Stark's role in causing the war. Dayla knew that Oberyn bore no ill will to the Northman and his sister, his hatred was directed at Rhaegar, and currently at Tywin Lannister. Even under the pale moonlight, Dayla could see bitterness beneath the charade of Oberyn Martell.

"I prefer to make love to women, not fight them," Oberyn shrugged, before clicking his fingers.

The snakes immediately lashed out, whilst Dayla's guard was dropped. She quickly kicked up the sand, blinding both women before bring her spear up.

"Dead," she said, stopping the blade inches from Nymeria's neck.

Obara thrust her spear at Dayla again and again, but each time Dayla blocked it, or side stepped it. When Obara thrust the spear at her again, Dayla ran past the shaft, punching Obara in the stomach. She followed through with her punch, lifting Obara off of the ground and then slamming her against the sand.

"Dead too," she trapped Obara's neck between the two spears, stabbing them into the ground.

"Impressive," Oberyn said, clapping his hands.

"I've fought Hill tribes men, knights in the melee, but I haven't been able to really test myself, you have fought in real battles Prince Oberyn, and my grandfather always told me to learn what I could, I would like to learn how to fight with a spear like you do, and possibly join your mercenary company," Dayla explained.

Oberyn put a hand to his chin, walking down the hill back to his camp, with Dayla following.

"I have great love for your grandfather, I owe him a debt I fear we cannot repay," he began, pouring himself a cup of wine and then another for Dayla. "Any whom bear the name Amell are welcome in Dorne, if the Meadow falls, you have a second home here."

"That's very kind of you to say my lord, but my grandfather didn't fight the Mountain to curry favour, he did it because it was the right thing to do," Dayla explained.

"Exactly, there are very few men left willing to do that," Oberyn said.

Dayla sniffed the wine before sipping it. Wine wasn't a taste she enjoyed, but she understood that in a way, it would be rude to refuse every bit of hospitality the Dornish offered.

"My daughters often train here, my oldest with my paramour, Elia, has begun practicing jousting. I brought you here so that you could spar with my daughters, but also so that I could speak with you in private, away from the spiders. How much do you know of your home continent, Thedas?" Oberyn asked.

The question took Dayla aback. She put her cup back on the table and thought of all the things her mother had told her. They were not stories, but truths, Revka had not spoke with passion or drama. She spoke as a home sick woman, she spoke as a disgusted woman, and as a mother who missed her child. Then there were letters she wrote to the child she missed.

"I know enough about Thedas, I have no desire to ever go there," Dayla said.

"Are you sure my dear? My company, the Red Vipers would have no problem being led by a woman," Oberyn said.

"Being led!" Dayla raised her eyebrows in confusion.

"You came here wishing to improve your skills with a spear, but the truth my dear is that I cannot teach you anything you do not already know. Already you are on your way to surpassing both your grandfather and uncle as a warrior, the only thing left is for you to lead people. I travelled to Thedas some years ago, but for reasons that are my own, I cannot return!"

"Do you have a few bastards you're hoping not to meet?" Dayla smirked, but Oberyn's face was uncharacteristically serious.

"I have never abandoned my children, I would have them want for nothing, food to eat, clothes to wear, and weapons to protect themselves and of course the freedom to pursue their pleasures," is smile however returned at the end of his speech. "No, I took no lovers in Thedas, it wasn't that the people weren't pleasing...I simply wasn't there for pleasure."

"Why did you go to Thedas then Oberyn, did it have something to do with that unaccounted period of your exile, after you murdered Edgar Yronwood?" Dayla asked.

"I did not murder Lord Yronwood, took his paramour perhaps, beat him in a duel but I did not murder him."

"Edgar's cut festered and killed him, you're really going to say that you didn't use a poisoned blade?"

"Are you really not going to tell me why you don't want to see the place of your family's origin?"

"It isn't that I don't want to go back, but we don't always get to do what we want. I realise I've been fortunate compared to most noble women. If I was a Lannister, or even a Stark, I would have been handed or sold to a suitor. But my mother and grandfather allowed me the control of my destiny, the control all people should have. With one request," Dayla explained and looked up at the stars again. "Myself, Revion, Dayk and Aristanna, must never go back to Thedas, we must not even seek to visit relatives in Kirkwall. They asked this of us out of fear."

"Fear of the magic in your bloodline, the very magic that those in Westeros scoff at and doubt the existence of," Oberyn said and Dayla nodded her head.

"Part of me wonders if the magic is even real, if in that distant land, the man my mother calls son is practicing his magic, summoning fire, manipulating the earth. I yearn to meet this man, to see his face, to hear his voice, to shake his hand or hug him, to let him know that he has family," Dayla explained.

"My brother and I loved our sister very much," the Dornish prince said. "In Dorne there are two certainties, we do not hurt children and we fight for our family, this lesson was reinforced by what was done to Elia, and what your grandfather did for us. I wanted to reward that gift, with a gift of my own. But alas, like us your bonds with your family is strong. If you wish to continue respecting your mother's wishes then I will remain silent, know this however, that if you decide to accept my gift then I will gladly appoint you leader of the party I will send to Thedas."

Dayla turned to Oberyn and bowed, grateful for the offer, but still she would follow her mother's wishes. Oberyn shared the sentiment, before he whistled to his daughters. Obara hesitantly threw the spear to Dayla's hand, and Oberyn grabbed the spear closest to him. He suddenly dived towards Dayla, thrusting his spear forward. The blade dragged against the cross blade of Dayla's spear. She diverted Oberyn's spear, matching the prince's grin.

"Is this because I rejected your advances the other night?" Dayla asked.

"Oh my dear, after today I know for sure that you are worthy of something much more intimate," Oberyn said.

They stepped away from one another, adjusting the grips on their spears and crouching into fighting stances.

"I guess it's true what they say about the Dornish, the only thing you like more than fucking is fighting," Dayla said before she and the prince of Dorne rushed towards one another.

Word would soon spread around Dorne of the dance of spears shared between Dayla Amell and Oberyn Martell.

* * *

Ostagar-Battlefield

Ogres had taken to the field, shifting the course of the battle. Cailan cut down one enemy after another, beginning to lean on his sword as he caught his breath. His guards got in front of him, blocking a group of Darkspawn. Duncan parried a Shriek's claws, pulled his sword back and then stabbed it through the gut. The Shriek grabbed the blade and roared at Duncan, trying to bit his face before Duncan tore his sword through the beast's stomach, then slashed it across the face. He looked towards Cailan, who was moving into the line of soldiers, joining them in a fight. The young king grabbed a soldier's spear and drove it through the mouth of a Hurlock. He was intent on fighting the darkspawn, on leading his troops at the front. It came as more of a burden to the shield bearing soldiers, whom now had to worry for their king.

"King Cailan, you should pull back," Duncan said, grabbing Cailan by his arm.

"Not yet, I will not have it be told that when things grew difficult King Cailan fled," the young man said.

The line of shield men collapsed as two Genlocks with wall shields rushed through. Cailan tried to swing his sword at the monsters, but one quickly pushed him back, sending him sprawling across the floor. Duncan jumped, stepping off of one of the Genlock's shields. He turned when he landed and slashed the Genlock in the back. Then he rushed the second Genlock, cutting off its head.

"Onward, try to break through," Cailan commanded.

"They're beginning to surround us," one of the knights said.

Suddenly, an arrow flew through the man's throat. Arrows began to pelt the men on the fortress ramparts. In the Chantry camp, mages began putting out the fires. Wynn healed a soldier's wounds, only for an arrow to hit him in the head. Shrieks ran across the camps like wild dogs. The kennel master stabbed a Shriek through the throat and stumbled back as a Hurlock swung its axe at him.

"NO!" he screamed.

But a large weight slammed into the side of the Hurlock, knocking it to the ground. One of the last Mabaris in the kennel was now on top of the Hurlock, ripping its throat open. The hound snarled, facing a Shriek. He sprinted to the right, then as the Shriek thrust its claws forward, he jumped to the left. Then he sank his teeth into the Shriek's arm, flipping the creature onto its back. The kennel master then stabbed the Shriek through the mouth. He stepped away from the body, shaking in fear. The Mabari looked up at the tower, whining before he ran off.

"You may have the right idea boy, fuck this place," the dog trainer shook his head and then ran, as many others ran.

* * *

But running was not an option for Daylen's group. They kept moving forward, hacking and blasting their way through enemies. Daylen burnt a Genlock to a crisp and picked its club off of the ground. He turned it into a mace with his control of ice, bracing himself as a Hurlock ran at him. When the Hurlock swung its axe down, Daylen activated a shield with his staff, deflecting the Hurlock's blow and forcing it to stumbled backwards. He then smashed the Hurlock across the face, bringing it to the ground. With a yell he smashed the Hurlock's face again and again.

"We're almost to the stairs, let's just keep going," Alistair said.

He cast aside his blunted sword and picked up a Darkspawn axe. Likewise the archer took up a Genlock's quiver, using the darkspawn arrows against the monsters. The two heavily armoured soldiers were in front, stabbing through a few of the remaining Hurlocks. Daylen dropped the mace he had used, leant on his staff and took a few deep breaths.

"Are you all right?" Alistair asked.

"I'll be fine, we keep going like you said," Daylen said.

Raising his fist, Daylen, formed a ring of red energy, the energy glowing around his arm. The shield deflected several arrows, at the far end of the corridor, darkspawn were firing crossbows. Daylen nodded to Alistair and the two armoured men, and began to rush forward. With him in front, they had a shield that could easily deflect the projectiles. The door behind the darkspawn archers swung open, and a lanky emissary with talons hovered into the corridor. It raised its hands and snarled at Daylen, ice swirling around it.

"Flames of wrath protect us," Daylen growled.

Fire glowed around his arm, turning the deflecting ring into a circle of flames that burnt all in its path, the crossbow bolts and the ice magic. Like an animal Daylen snarled, breaking off into a run. The emissary widened its eyes, shocked by the actions of the human. It switched to lightning, only for red lightning to suddenly crackle around Daylen's shield. Ice covered his staff, forging the end of a spear. When Daylen faded his shield, he thrust his spear into the emissary's stomach. Alistair threw his axe, hitting a Hurlock archer in the head. He then knocked a Genlock to the ground and smashed its jaw with his shield. The other two warriors stabbed and slashed with their weapons.

"Truly this battle would have gone another way without a mage in our ranks," one of the men said.

Alistair looked at Daylen, noticing the blood on the corner of his mouth. He had templar training, he could see that Daylen had subtly reinforced his spell with just a little bit of blood, biting the corner of his lip. Daylen tapped his staff against the ground, the ice around it shattering.

'I should thank Irving again the next time I see him, this staff has been one of his greatest gifts,' he thought.

Then he looked at his shaking hand. He didn't have time to worry, to be concerned about possible deeper damage to the nerves in his arm, or to wonder if it was just fear that made his arm shake. Or if somehow, his arm was becoming the focus point of all the darkness and rage swelling within him.

'Focus only on the path in front of you,' Daylen walked onwards, through a door that would take him further to his destiny.

* * *

King's landing

Those whom guarded Prince Tommen were much more welcoming to Revka. The room itself was smaller than Joffrey's, but in no way less grand. There was the smell of cats in the air, and indeed when Revka took a seat by Tommen's bedside, a cat pounced onto his lap.

"Ser Pounce has gotten bigger I see," Revka said, smiling as Tommen stroked the purring car.

"Are you going to read me a story Lady Amell?" the prince asked.

"I will, but please my prince, remember that when it is just the two of us..."

"Call you Auntie Revka," Tommen smiled in delight and Revka nodded her head proudly.

"Now my prince, today I am going to tell you a story straight from the tales of the legendary knights, some of my favourite stories. This story saw the first meeting of the chosen king and the wielder of Arondight," Revka began.

"The sword that uncle Jaime uses?"

"It is not the actual sword of legend, in truth there was probably nothing grand or decorative about the sword the knight wielded. A legend behind the sword was forged because of that knight's actions. This legendary knight was a foreigner to the kingdom, an outsider whom did not belong with the nobility. But he earned the love of the people by being the very example of chivalry and virtue we now believe in today. Indeed, knights began not as protectors of nobles or kings, but the common folk."

"What about the king and the knight?"

"Yes, yes I will get to it Tommen, you see the king was once riding with his knights, when he came upon a bridge that the foreign knight was guarding. The king rode onto the bridge and bellowed:

'Move aside! This is the king's road!'

'I await the king himself, his knight's are in need of training!'

'I am king, and this...'

"He drew forth from his horse the great sword of crowning:

'This is the sword of king's, from the dawn of time,' the king said and the knight remained stoic, impassive. He would not be moved by the king's outrage or boasts of power. The king wore great golden armour, a helm that possessed his very crown. The knight wore cheap, dark armour.

'I am simply a knight from across the seas, and I have yet to find a king worthy of my sword,' the knight said.

'That is a wild boast, you lack a knight's humility,' the king snarled.

'Not a boast sir, but a curse, for I have never met my match in joust or duel,' there was perhaps sorrow in the knight's eyes. For whilst he had pride in his strength, part of him yearned for what other warriors yearned for, the thrill of battle and a worthy opponent that could push him.

'May the god's give me the strength to unhorse you, and with one blow send you back across the sea,' the king began to ride towards the knight.

"They began their fight on horseback, jousting. In one pass, both had broken their lances."

'I will give you another lance,' the knight said.

'Awe, another lance,' the king nodded in appreciation.

"There seemed no hatred between them. In a single pass, the two had the measure of one another. The king was not without skill, he had fought for his kingdom. He had yearned for a moment to hone his skills in the peace he forged. This was that moment, and of the men that the knight had fought, he had never encountered one whom could break his lance in the first pass. In the second pass however, the knight unhorsed the king, and a great rage filled his heart, his face contorting with fury.

'SWORD!' he bellowed, his squire immediately retrieving his horse so he could draw the sword of legend.

'Yield sir, I have the advantage,' the knight said, knocking the king down once with his lance.

'No,' declared the king, rising to the challenge again. 'You held back your strike,' he accused the man.

'I simply wished not to hurt you,' it was true, much pride was injured by the knight, yet he had never taken the life of the knights whom challenged him.

"The king believed it an insult, but truly it was a mark of the man's skill. For he could subdue men, many larger than him, many even more experienced than him. Yet his skill was such that he could end a fight without bloodshed. The knight dropped his lance and got off of his horse, keeping his shield raised, recognising the madness in the king's eyes."

"Was the king really mad?" Tommen asked.

"There was great anger in him, he had achieved his peace, he had never lost a fight, yet here was a foreign man, a man with seeming no ambition or pride that challenged him, and possessed more skill than he had.

'You would risk death? Fighting one who is not your enemy? Over a bridge you could easily ride around?' the knight asked.

'So be it, to the death then,' the King bellowed and lunged at the knight.

"But the knight fought, protecting himself with his shield, parrying the King's strikes with his own blade. The king fought as if possessed, his pride on the line. They rolled through the dirt, off of the very green island they had begun their battle on. Their armour clanked against the rocks, clank, clank, clank, water from the nearby stream wet their hair. Again and again the knight brought the king down, until finally the king, exhausted and drenched looked upon his sword. 'Grant me your power king maker' he commanded it, an eerie green glow spread through it and he swung it at the knight. The knight raised his shield, and the sword broke through it, clanging against the knight's chest plate."

Revka stopped for dramatic effect when Tommen gasped.

"But much to the king's horror, the king maker sword snapped, the tip of the blade falling against the ground. The king was horrified, broken from his trance when he saw what his actions had wrought. He begged the wizard whom advised and guided him to again show him the way.

'No my king, there are things that once broken, cannot be fixed, that is the price of wrath,' the wizard said and the king knew the lesson he had learnt.

"He helped up the knight, praised his skill and asked him forgiveness. The knight, impressed by the king's humility, swore to serve him from then on. From that point on, he became the most legendary of the knights, the greatest fighter amongst them and the one they said was the closest to the king in terms of his nobility and his humanity, for everyone has their failings. It is in how one learns from those failings that determine their character."

"The king learnt that he couldn't base his decisions off of anger anymore didn't here?" Tommen asked and Revka nodded her head.

"That is true my prince, very perceptive, you see Tommen when you make decisions when you are angry, they're not always rational, but once you've made them, you can't take them back," she explained.

"Thank you for telling me the story Auntie Revka, could you tell me another tomorrow night?"

"Of course my prince, but you have to have read the first chapter of this first, a book by a scholar in Thedas, Brother Genitivi, in it he analyses the relationship between the Chantry and the rulers of early Blessed age Kirkwall, how they worked together, how their coordinated efforts of rule weren't effective because they had been working together."

She placed the book on Tommen's lap and kissed his forehead.

"Good night my prince, remember, you have your own legendary knights to protect you, the mightiest of all skulks your very room, Ser Pounce, whose claws are sharp," Revka explained and Tommen giggled.

When Revka walked out of the prince's bedroom, she dropped her smile upon seeing Cersei. The queen stood between her guards, her signature stern expression upon her face.

"Reading to my son again I see, fanciful tales? Nonsense from Thedas? Silly stories?"she asked.

"Of course, someone has to teach them how to smile, we can't have a scowl be all they get taught," Revka said.

The Lannister guards traded worried and uneasy looks. They then heard something they almost never heard from their mistress, a genuine laugh. Cersei produced from behind her back a bottle of wine, giving it to Revka.

"It is unwise to keep a member of the royal family waiting," she said.

"That it is, I'd best not delay Mrycella's story," Revka said.

"You've been to all of my children?" Cersei asked and Revka nodded her head. "Then I thank you, I know very few stories, and I will not have Robert filling their heads with tales of conquest."

"Which kind of conquest?" Revka snorted and Cersei shook her head in disgust.

"He is still in there with his whores, dishonouring me!"

"At least they're getting paid before they get thrown back onto the street, those women take money wherever they can take it, when the king offers of course they won't refuse. Fucking one married man is the same as any other," Revka explained.

"Perhaps so, but I do not forgive," Cersei seethed, beginning to lead Revka to her daughter's quarters.

"Which one?" Revka asked, her voice as low as a whisper.

Cersei however remained silent, trading her scowl for her more interested expression as she conversed with Revka on other matters.

"What did you read to Tommen?" she asked.

"The tale of how the legendary king met his greatest knight, their duel near a bridge, don't worry, it wasn't the bloody version," Revka smirked.

"There are different versions of the tale?"

"No one really knows whether the knights of legend truly existed, there have been accounts and discoveries here and there that suggested a version of them existed, obviously not the ones told of in stories. The greatest of the knight's actually came into the story very late, he was an Orlesian addition to the legend. In some versions of the story, the duel that resulted in the breaking of the king maker was fought between the king and the man whom would become his marshal, that it was the king's last swing with his sword that cost the man the use of his arm. Every story is different, because these were days when even 'noble houses' had nothing but the spoken word to spread their history," Revka explained.

"You know much about stories?" Cersei asked.

"I know there is power in them, especially when those stories are about perceptions. Some are tales of caution, to always honour ones debts, like the city that did not honour an agreement with a flute player and thus had their children taken from them. Other times, they can just be a much needed escape, stories of good overcoming evil, of kings being kind to their people, stories of destined lovers reuniting!"

"They certainly sound wondrous, but we did not here of such stories in House Lannister," Cersei said.

"Then I'd be happy to show you just how powerful they can be my friend," Revka said, smiling as she took hold of the handle of Myrcella's door. "Well your grace, are you coming with me or not?" she asked.

Cersei overcame her initial shock and followed her friend into her daughter's room. Mother and daughter were enraptured by Revka's story, a story of wizards and dragons. By the end Mrycella was happy and Revka and Cersei were walking down the corridor together.

"A good tale, I've not seen her smile like that in some time," Cersei said.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it to Cersei, now, your quarters or mine?" Revka asked, holding up the bottle of wine. "Dornish is good, but I have some Ferelden mead that's sweeter!"

"You have tempted me, very well, we'll see which is better shall we?" Cersei smirked and Revka laughed.

* * *

 _(Marty Freidman-Perfect world)_

Daylen ran as fast as he could up the spiral staircase, following Alistair and the companions they had gathered. Alistair smashed Genlocks against the wall with his shield, leaving their bodies roll down the steps. Daylen remembered the floor plans of the tower he had looked at. Soon they would reach the spire, where they would light the fire. His arm shook, yet still he ran on, looking up with glowing eyes at the path ahead of him.

* * *

The man in the red hood kept his hands in his pockets as he walked through the tunnels. He stopped, hearing all manner of creatures of the deep roads scurrying about. Then he heard the slither of children, the children of the dark. His teeth bore into a grin and his eyes glowed red. With the children crawling around him he kept walking on the path ahead of him. It was just one of the next steps of his plan, a plan Leo had concocted since Daylen left him for dead at the bottom of Lake Calenhad.

So as Daylen and his friends ran into a room filled with Darkspawn, Leo lifted off his hood and walked into a cavern filled with Darkspawn brood mothers and their children.

"Ladies, I was wondering if I could have a word?" he asked.

They simply roared at him, and the young man broke off into the same laughter he had shared with Flemeth.

Next Chapter 25: The battle for Ostagar finale

* * *

Next time the final moment of the battle of Ostagar, Daylen faces a Darkspawn ogre.


	25. Chapter 25

Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Age or A Song of ice and fire

* * *

Game of Thrones

"Beware the red eyed men, whom bring with them bad fortune. For they walk close to demons, indeed consort with them, and bear in their will all manner of plots of ill intent and ruin. Beware the red eyed men, whom have said goodbye to part of their souls, and are all the more cruel because they bear half a soul, for demons are bound by nature, whilst the red eyed men are consumed by evil!"

Leo stood in front of the brood mothers of the fifth blight. He smirked as he looked up at a Darkspawn Hurlock. It had a paler complexion than the others, and wore more sophisticated armour, a hood partially covered its head. The Hurlock was holding and stroking a worm like brood, sticky and fresh from birth.

"You don't have the stench of the Grey Wardens, yet you are tainted," the Hurlock said.

"I am as beyond the Grey Wardens as you and your brood are beyond the simple Darkspawn," Leo explained.

"Indeed, that is a claim human, you strike me as someone well informed, why is it you aren't surprised by my ability to speak?" the Hurlock asked.

"I know of the Architect and his breed of Darkspawn, I was hoping to meet him here, so that I may strike a bargain," Leo said.

"He no longer acts in the interests of the horde, in fact, he has no wish to control the path of the blight," the Hurlock began to squeeze the brood, drawing a whine from its mandibles. "Benevolence or malevolence, good intentions, or greed, the wish to be a saviour, or a destroyer, I do not know what guides him, whether there is more or less sanity within him. My goal however, my worship is the chaos of the Blight, or whatever may come next. I am a 'Seeker' of chaos."

With a twist of its hands, the 'Seeker' broke the Brood's neck. Leo grinned with amusement as the Seeker ripped the Brood in half, held up one end of its body and squeezed, spraying blood down 'his' throat. He gained a sense of satisfaction from watching this satisfaction, just as the Seeker gained sustenance from it.

"I too seek chaos, but not simply for the sake of it, but to achieve a goal of my own," Leo said.

The Seeker hummed, tearing chunks out of the brood and eating them.

"I see, so what exactly is this goal of yours?" the Seeker asked.

"Destiny," Leo spread his arms and began walking forward. "Once, I was told that I could rule a country, that I could wield ultimate power, that I would change the fate of my family, but above all I would face my rival in a no holds barred battle that would selfishly drag many innocents into it. Now, knowing **him** , this is something he cannot stand for. So who would win, I whom love nothing, who will destroy everything to achieve my goal, or he who risks his life to save everyone?"

"A question I too cannot help wonder the answer to, yes," the Seeker chuckled. "You've certainly," he jumped off of the mound he stood on, which folded to reveal another human Brood mother. "Certainly caught my interest," he tossed what remained of the brood upwards, catching it in his mouth.

Crunching down on the tough scales, his chewing echoed through the roof. So too did every step he took on the flesh like ground, walking towards Leo, who still held a feral grin on his face. The Seeker stopped however, stomping his foot on a brood crawling by. He grabbed the creature, ignoring its whines and wriggling. Then he viciously tore it in half throwing the still living head to Leo. The young man looked at the whining creature in fascination before looking at the Seeker. As if offering a toast, the Seeker raised the tail he held to Leo.

"I wish to create such a scenario as what you just spoke of, consider my help yours," the Seeker said.

"Don't you want to at least know what I want you and your brood for?" Leo asked, raising the brood to his mouth like a piece of fruit.

"I like surprises," the darkspawn grinned, before chomping down.

Leo let out a laugh and put the brood into his mouth, biting into it and gasping in awe at how it tasted. It was sweeter than fruit to him, the blood more nourishing than any water he had drunk. He kept chewing and biting until he had finished his 'snack'. For a moment his pupils faded and his eyes went completely red, as if he was going through some twisted version of the joining.

"To our future then," the Seeker said.

"To destiny, you'd better survive, Daylen," Leo whispered.

House Amell of Westeros

Chapter 25: Ostagar finale

Daylen and his companions continued running up the stairs of the tower, the battle of Ostagar still raging outside. On the battlefield, Cailan and Duncan fought side by side through waves of darkspawn. The horde was beginning to overwhelm the Grey warden and royal army, the battle was reaching a critical junction, a point in which Loghain's forces would have to reinforce or the battle would be catastrophically lost. At the gate of the tower of Ishal, Marian and her group continued to protect it from Darkspawn raiders. Marian fired one after another, piercing the necks and heads of her targets. Carver held up a barricade with a few of the other men, as the others struck spear and sword through the gaps.

"We need to flee, now," one of the men said.

"No, we need to buy them more time," Marian said.

As the make shift barricade came down, Marian drew a sword from her hip and jumped on the nearest Hurlock, driving her sword through its neck. Carver kicked a Genlock away from Marian, swinging his sword through the waist of another Hurlock. One of the other soldiers stabbed a Hurlock with his spear, only for a Shriek to pounce on him. The corruption of an elf ripped into the man's throat, tearing chunks out with its teeth. Aveline hit the Shriek with her shield, and then stabbed it through the chest.

"Hold the line!" Carver snarled, pushing a line of Darkspawn to the ground.

He used his great sword as much for bludgeoning his enemies as he did for cutting. His great strength allowed him to pushing enemies to the ground, giving Marian time to gather arrows. She held the arrows in her mouth and her hand, allowing her to continually fire without the effort of pulling a projectile out of the quiver. Aveline watched the seemingly unorthodox and undisciplined fighting of the twins and saw great skill in their moves, savagery combined with planning, speed in conjunction with accuracy. Just as her defensive moves complimented her attacks, so too did the traits the twins showed.

"Marian," Carver called to his sister, slamming his foot into a Genlock's neck and then throwing its quiver of arrows to her.

"Keep your head down Carver," Marian fired her arrows again and again, hitting the enemies that approached her brother.

"If we're going to stay, get back here into formation," Aveline commanded.

"You heard him Carver," Marian said.

The younger Hawke however was swinging his sword wildly, cleaving a Hurlock through the waist and a Genlock across the neck. He held his blade with both hands, the blade facing the enemies in front of him.

"Come on, if you want a quick way to die just try to get through this door," he challenged the Darkspawn and raised his sword as they ran towards him.

The young Carver Hawke fought with greater skill than the trained king and seasoned Grey Warden. Duncan pulled his sword out of the gut of a Genlock and looked to his friend. Cailan was leaning against his sword, wiping blood and sweat off of his face. Exhaustion was beginning to take its toll on him. Yet still he fought, under the belief that help would come soon. Every thrust of the spear, every swing of the sword, every shield raised and arrow fired was done under the hope that an impossible victory could be achieved today. But it all resided in two things, the choice of a man and the actions of a mage.

For when Daylen and his group got up to the top of the tower, they stopped. Men who had once stood guard over the signal, had been ripped apart, their clothes put into piles as their flesh was used as food or idols of the darkspawn's twisted sense of humour. Some had been impaled from arse to mouth on spikes, others had been turned into pincushions for darkspawn blades. A few darkspawn stood around the room, out of their armour, pulling swords out of their victims and turning to Daylen's group. But their eyes were drawn to another figure in the dome shaped room. It was crouched, chomping on pieces of meat. Blood frothed from its mouth as it turned and stood. The creature's skin was grey, its muscles bulging, arms built for crushing and dragon like horns decorating its head.

"An ogre," Alistair said.

The monster shook the room with its roar. But Daylen's eyes were drawn to the edge of the tower window, there was no wood for a fire, just scattered pieces, too small or already burnt, incapable of making a fire big enough to be seen so far away.

"Damn it," Daylen whispered.

"What are we going to do?" the archer asked.

"I'll make a fire, let's just kill these bastards first," Daylen said.

"You heard him, GO!" Alistair yelled.

 _(Dragon Age Inquisition OST-Battle for Haven)_

They ran towards the darkspawn, throwing aside all their fear and fighting with everything they had. Alistair the battle by beheading a Hurlock. He then ran another one through with his sword. The ogre stomped towards the group, bashing aside darkspawn in its way. It brought its head down towards Daylen, opening its maw to bite him. But one of the armoured men pushed Daylen out of the way, catching the ogre's teeth with his shield. The ogre lifted him into the air, dangling him for a moment, keeping him from accurately swinging his sword. Then, the ogre grabbed him by his legs and slammed him into the ground. Daylen heard the crunch of bone and saw the man's body bend in a way it wasn't meant to. He backed away from the ogre in fear.

"DAYLEN! MOVE!" Alistair yelled.

He hacked a Hurlock apart and then swung his sword at the ogre's leg. His already worn sword broke on the Ogre's tough hide. Then the ogre swung its arm around, hitting Alistair's shield and sending him sprawling across the room. The archer hit two Genlocks approaching the fallen warden. Using the distraction, Alistair dropped his broken sword and shield and ran at the Genlocks, kicking one to the ground and grappling with the other. He pulled the arrow free out of its shoulder and stabbed it through the eye. Then he tackled the other Genlock and began punching it repeatedly.

"Burn you bastard burn!" Daylen threw a fireball at the ogre's head, burning its skin, but not setting it ablaze.

A stream of fire erupted from his staff, covering the ogre but still not setting a light. The ogre swung its arm towards Daylen, who raised a barrier just in time. Like a cat with a ball of twine, the ogre batted Daylen across the room. The ball shaped barrier protected him from the impact with the wall, but faded when he fell to the floor.

"Daylen," Alistair called out to the mage.

He grabbed the Genlock's knife and slid it through the creature's ear. Picking up a spear off of the ground, he threw it into the ogre's back. When the ogre turned, the archer shot it in the shoulder. Out of arrows, the archer drew his sword and slashed a Hurlock that tried to attack him.

 _(Attack on Titan OST-EMA)_

"COME ON YOU UGLY FUCK!" the young man yelled.

He ran to one of the human pincushions, pulling an arrow out of the flesh. Then he fired it, only for the ogre to flick the projectile away. Alistair grabbed two swords from the ground and jumped on the ogre's back, stabbing it. He began to climb up the ogre, wiggling his feet so that it couldn't grab him. Alistair let go of one sword and swung back, narrowing avoiding the ogre's fingers. The ogre swung around, throwing Alistair on top of the second warrior. Two Hurlocks then approached them, one was impaled by the warrior's sword, but the second managed to spear his leg. The man yelled in agony and Alistair quickly acted, pulling the sword out of the Hurlock and slashing the other across the throat.

"GET IT OUT! GET IT OUT!" the warrior yelled.

Alistair snapped one end of the spear, but before he could even try to pull the shaft out of the man's leg, the ogre approached them. The monster extended its hand, but suddenly, bolts of lightning pelted its hand and electrocuted the ogre, exposing for a moment its skeleton. Flesh sizzling, the ogre stepped back and looked towards Daylen, his staff extended.

"Oh well, if you won't burn, I suppose the next best thing will do, GET CLEAR ALISTAIR!" Daylen roared.

The warden grabbed the warrior and ran away from the ogre. Daylen gripped his staff with both hands, focusing his earth spells on the projected path the ogre was taking towards him. Then he slammed the staff down, loosening a section of the floor just enough for the ogre's weight to do the rest. It fell down as the floor gave way, bricks half burying it in the floor below.

 _(End OST)_

"Whose still alive?" Daylen asked.

"I'm fine," the archer said.

"Over here Daylen," Alistair called out.

Daylen ran to Alistair's side. The warrior he protected was leaning against the wall, nursing the spike of wood imbedded in his leg.

"Can you do anything for him?" Alistair asked.

"I can't use healing magic, and even if I could, with no wood here I need all the mana I can spare to create a fire big enough to signal Loghain's forces," Daylen explained.

"I will be fine, just wrap something around the wound, warden, we'll need to form a barricade, the darkspawn could be on us any moment," the warrior stated.

Alistair hesitantly nodded his head and followed the warrior to the door. Daylen's hand shook as he reached into his bag, pulling out the broken remains of a mana bottle.

"No," he gasped.

Running to the edge of the window, he looked out at the field, the lights of the torches Loghain's forces carried.

"Maybe the fire doesn't have to be that big, maybe I can just," Daylen put his hand out of the window and focused on his shaking hand.

A spark was all he could muster, and his heart sank. He stared at his shaking hand and grit his teeth together in frustration.

"Wait, maybe," he drew his knife and dragged it over the surface of his arm. 'Come on, blood magic made Leo more powerful, it helped Jowan to escape, all I need is enough power for a fire!'

His eyes glowed for a moment, and there was a moment that Daylen felt the surge of power that blood offered. But it was just a moment, nothing more.

"DAMN IT!" Daylen yelled.

There was a crashing sound, and the barricade of bodies that Alistair and the warrior made was thrown aside. The ogre bound into the room, led by a few more Hurlocks, all of them following an emissary. Alistair pushed the Hurlock body that had knocked him down and picked up a sword. He looked to the fallen warrior in horror as the Emissary approached him. The emissary raised his hand and the warrior unleashed a horrific scream. He was lifted off of the floor, energy flowing around him and the Emissary. The warrior's body shrunk, his skin going pale and bone like before the Emissary threw his lifeless husk away. Electricity crackled in the Emissary's hand, the creature laughing.

* * *

Cersei and Revka's laughter echoed through the room. They sat on the cushions at Cersei's windows and drank wine, and also spoke of past times.

"He did not," Cersei said.

"Oh he did, Damion raised his sword over his head and yelled 'I WILL BE A HERO OF JUSTICE!' and then the table gave away and he crashed into the ground," Revka began laughing with the queen.

"Damion was fat? I never would have suspected," Cersei muttered.

"Oh he scoffed and dined, after his declaration father sat him down and told him to start taking his training seriously. It took some time, but he became the warrior we all remembered, he still had a weakness for sweet things at time," Revka explained.

"Cookies?"

"Yes, how would you guess?"

"My brother!"

"Tyrion?"

"No, Jamie."

Revka paused for a moment, and then laughed.

"Jamie, I'll need to remember that, Robert should pray no one tries to bribe Jamie with cookies," she said.

Cersei poured another glass out, handing it to Revka, who likewise poured mead for Cersei.

"We would dive off of the cliffs at Castely rock, we were never afraid," Cersei said.

"Damion and I would sneak out of the manor, meet with our cousins and then go to dark town, pretend we were poor street urchins. But one day my cousin Leandra messed up, she brought a scarf with her that was far too fine for someone born in dark town," Revka explained.

"What happened?" Cersei asked.

"A group of men tried to steal it, I said no, kicked one of them in the balls," Cersei laughed and Revka smiled. "Then the other man drew a knife!"

Cersei grew silent, holding on to every word.

"Suddenly, father appeared, ran out of the shadows, throwing a black cloak over his shoulder. He cut the man down, didn't try to talk him down, didn't try to change the man's mind, he just killed him. It turned out we never had reason to fear, father was watching us every time. My the words I heard from my uncle's mouth that day, I thought they were going to fall out," Revka explained. "But we were afraid of father for a while then," she added.

"You had heard so many stories about him, but then you saw him kill," Cersei said, lifting her cup to her mouth.

"Yes," Revka sniffed the edges of her glass. "We had never seen such an angry look in our father's eyes either, that look he had when he slashed that man. He told us later that we would never have reason to be afraid of him, he started teaching us about the sword then, and about killing a man."

"My father was furious when he learned that I was sneaking into lessons intended for Jamie, 'that is not what a Lannister woman is meant for', he has a lot of expectations about what being a Lannister is about, uncle Kevan always nodded his head but uncle Tyg never agreed on conformity, uncle Gerion bless him could always make us laugh, I think he was the only one who could mock our father, the most powerful man in the country reduced to a joke," Cersei explained, smiling as she thought fondly of those two uncles.

"I saw Tygett recently, he is recovering his strength," Revka said.

"I thank you for sending the medical aid, thank you for everything," Cersei finished her mead and went to her bedside cabinet.

She pulled open the drawer, pulling out a chunk with cloth wrapped around it.

"To this day I regretted what happened in the Meadow, you faced justice fearlessly, but I did not wish to hurt you in such a way," Cersei explained.

She unravelled the cloth and revealed to Revka a golden hand. Revka gasped, captivated by the delicate and graceful design of the hand. She took the gift and bowed her head in thanks.

"Thank you Cersei, I will cherish this, as I cherish our friendship," she said.

Revka unrolled her sleeve, and slid the hand through it. She raised the hand and swayed, giggling slightly.

"You said wine was weak," Cersei chuckled.

"Oh, and you're so sober as well."

"I am the picture of sobriety, your weak Thedosian filth can't even make me stum..." as Cersei leant against the side of a table, she toppled it over and fell.

Revka gripped her mouth, concealing the laughter. Cersei could do nothing but laugh.

"Your grace, is everything all right?" the guard asked on the other side of the door.

"No brave knight, come quick, she needs rescuing from real ale," Revka said.

"You wish, no need for rescue, but if you are handsome and young please come in, Lady Revka requires a husband," Cersei stood up, swaying to sit beside Revka.

Revka tried to shush her, but only ended up laughing.

"Although speaking from experiencing, husband's can be over rated, come in young knight...we both require attention!"

"Cersei!" Revka chided the queen.

"Oh come now, why should Robert have all the fun, come in knight, disobey me and risk treason!" Cersei called out and Revka howled with laughter.

The Lannister guard trotted into the room. Both women looked at him for a moment.

"Too old, perhaps he was handsome once," Cersei said.

"Now, now Cersei, beauty is in the eye of the beholder," Revka said.

They exchanged looks and then fell back laughing.

"Go, if there is a younger, fair haired one out there bring him back," Cersei mock commanded.

"I'm partial to freckles," Revka added.

 _(Dissidia OST-Keeping the Peace)_

The companions poured one another more drinks and tapped glass and cup together. Cersei sipped her wine and leant against the wall, looking out of the window before looking to Revka. The woman was tilting her cup of mead back in a very un lady like fashion. She then wiped her mouth on her sleeve, revealing a beauty that captivated Cersei.

"Tell me Lady Amell, tell me a story," the queen said.

"A tale of a dragon being slain? Of a fair maiden being rescued? Or a girl learning to rescue herself perhaps? A king's rise and fall? Or perhaps something with griffins in?"

"Your son, tell me about your son," Cersei's eyes drifted for a moment.

"Oh Revion and Dayk, then can be trouble sometimes," Revka said.

"No, your son, Daylen!"

Revka was dumbstruck for a moment. There were days she thought Cersei cared not for stories of a far off child.

"My bright Day," she whispered. "Sometimes my stormy Day, my miserable Day, one time my rainy Day!"

Cersei snorted, but still paid attention.

"He was lost once, and grandfather found him, one boy out of so many who died in a fire. It was clear to us that he was special, I knew from the moment I held him in my arms. So smart, so much potential, potential that I know he is living up to. He once said 'I will be a hero' and I knew he was serious. I have no doubt in my mind that he will achieve his goal, no matter what is thrown in his way, no matter what darkness he must wade through, no matter difficult decision awaits him, no matter what failures try to weigh him down, I know he will succeed," Revka explained.

She looked to her queen and saw that she had fallen asleep, a small tear falling down her face. Revka smiled and took a nearby blanket, draping it over Cersei's lap. Then she closed the window and stepped back, bowing.

"Sleep well my queen!"

Revka made her way out of Cersei's room and stopped halfway to her room.

"Daylen," she smiled, remembering her child and the path he had now been set on.

* * *

 _(Dissidia OST-The troop's advance)_

Daylen knocked back a Hurlock with his staff, taking a few steps back to adjust his footing. The archer fired his last arrow, hitting a Genlock. He drew his sword and rushed to Daylen's side, stabbing a Hurlock in the back. Alistair was surrounded by Hurlock's, struggling to parry and avoid their strikes. Daylen leant on his staff, looking at his hand as it shook. A dark aura began to drift around the arm like a smoke. The mage shook his head, he didn't know what that dark power was, but he wasn't going to use it. Daylen smacked a Genlock across the head, then smashed his staff through its mouth.

"The Emissary," the archer warned Daylen.

Daylen grabbed the Hurlock's sword and with a yell, threw it at the Emissary. The Hurlock widened its eyes, before the sword slid through its chest.

"Well done," the archer smiled at Daylen.

"LOOK OUT!" Daylen yelled.

But he was too late, one of the Hurlocks ran at the archer, stabbing him in the chest. The archer gathered his strength and slashed the Hurlock across the face. The Hurlock however pulled his blade out, and blood spurted from the young man's wound.

 _(End OST)_

"Damn it no," Daylen said.

The archer turned spraying blood onto Daylen's shirt. Daylen supported him and looked him in the eyes.

"Don't waste it," the man whispered, his eyes drifting shut.

Daylen widened his eyes as the ogre swung its arm towards him. The monstrous paw struck the body of the archer and knocked Daylen back too. More blood coated Daylen's hair, part of his face and left arm. He rolled across the floor, his staff clattering beside him.

"DAYLEN!" Alistair yelled, picking up a spear and driving it through the nearest Hurlock.

Daylen grabbed his staff and looked towards the ogre, the blood in his eye partly blinding him.

 _"To save one, also means to sacrifice another, and I could not keep doing that, because I lost hope that I could save everyone."_

 _"I'm still young, and I'll be young for a long time, which means I'll still have dreams. So I'll become a hero, the hero you wanted to be."_

"DAYLEN!" he heard Alistair yell again.

The ogre got closer and closer to Daylen. He stopped however as Daylen rose to his knees, leaning against the tip of his staff.

 _(Soul Calibur VI OST: The Evil Flame)_

Daylen roared, darkness running across his armoured arm, whilst flames spread across the other. The flames morphed around his staff, forming the silhouette of a great spear. In a flash of lightning, Daylen rushed through the ogre, slashing it across the gut. The ogre bellow in pain, also seeing that it's arm had been cut clean through. Alistair was awestruck for a moment, then looked towards Daylen's eyes, seeing that they were like an animals. Or perhaps, more like a darkspawn's. His armoured hand was coated by the darkness, forming an inhuman claw. One on side, hideous darkness, and on another was the brightest flame. Daylen's head snapped around and he thrust his arm forward. The darkness expanded, punching the enemies beside Alistair with such force that they broke their necks on the wall. Daylen then swung his spear around, cutting down two Genlocks.

"I'll take it, for now," Alistair said, stabbing a Hurlock through the neck.

The two wardens fought side by side. Alistair swinging two swords he had taken and Daylen his spear and arm. One slashed and the other punched, Alistair threw his second sword, hitting a Hurlock before he could slash Daylen across the back. Daylen threw a fireball, and Alistair ducked as it struck the Hurlock behind him. They moved past one another, Alistair bringing his sword down on a Hurlock's head. Daylen stabbed a Hurlock, setting the creature alight. He bashed it aside and looked towards the Ogre.

"KILL IT ALREADY !" Alistair yelled.

Daylen again rushed with his magic, moving instead as fire and cutting off the ogre's horn. He landed, dragging his arm across the floor and looking towards the ogre. There was a glint of fear in the creature's eyes, and no mercy in Daylen's.

 **"Be unleashed, darkness and rage,"** Daylen's voice echoed with an inhuman growl.

He raised his staff, the flames around it forming a great sword.

 **"TASTE THE FLAMES OF DESPAIR!"** the darkness propelled him forward and he passed the blade of the sword through the ogre's heart.

The ogre recoiled in agony and Daylen span, landing on his feet behind the ogre. He had dragged the sword across the ground, but the flames faded and revealed his staff. The darkness too faded as the ogre's eyes and mouth glowed orange. It suddenly was set alight, screaming with pain and flailing around. The monster fell at the edge of the window, turning into a pile of flesh and fire.

 _(End OST)_

"How's that for a signal fire?" Daylen asked.

Alistair yanked his sword out of the last darkspawn and walked to the mage's side.

"Now that is a signal fire, well done Daylen," Alistair said.

Daylen nodded his head, watching the ogre burn.

"There may still be time for us to rejoin the battle," Alistair said.

"Oh no," Daylen shook his head. "I'd rather stay up here, I'm a little tired and I think I've had my fill of darkspawn for today."

He sat down and let out a great big sigh. Alistair looked at him in shock, but upon seeing the grin on Daylen's face gradually began to laugh.

"A warden's work is never done, but I suppose a moment's rest is good, beside's seeing Loghain's men march would be a sight," Alistair cautiously looked out of the window, being careful not to catch himself on the flames. "Daylen," he said.

"What?" Daylen groaned.

"The torches...Loghain's army," Alistair was dumbstruck for words.

Daylen got off of the floor, grabbing his staff and walking to the window. He didn't see an army charging towards Ostagar. Instead he saw thousands of torches moving away from Ostagar. Then he realised the sad truth, that the battle of Ostagar, hinged on two things. The actions of a warden, and the choice of a man. And when Loghain saw the magnificent flame on tower of Ishal he said to his lieutenant:

"Sound the retreat."

Gritting his teeth together in rage, Daylen then shook his head.

'We shouldn't have fought here anyway,' he thought.

 _(Samurai Warriors 4 OST-Passage of time)_

He felt something impact with his back. Then he looked to his side, and saw an arrow head sticking out of his shoulder. Daylen turned to the newly arrived darkspawn and sighed.

"Fuck it," he whispered.

He broke the arrow in his shoulder, and then ripped the parts out of him. Spreading the blood across his staff, he created a mana blade on it. Alistair too prepared his blade, both seeing no way out.

"I'm sorry Duncan," Daylen heard the warden whisper, and then pray.

"Surana, uncle Damion, I'll soon come to meet you," Daylen spoke a different sort of prayer.

Then he yelled and ran at the darkspawn.

'Grandfather, I'm so sorry, I did my best but I couldn't keep my promise!' was his final thought before he jumped towards the darkspawn ranks.

In Westeros, Revka hummed a soft tune as she walked to the bird cages, ready to receive word of Thedas from Garret. The bird had his head hung low and Revka hesitated as she drew the letter out. She broke the seal and opened the letter, reading it. Her hand became still, the letter slipping from her fingers and she screamed.

Next Final Chapter: Hope of the Amells

* * *

Okay, I promise next chapter will be the final one, of this part of the series :)


	26. Final Chapter

Disclaimer: I don't own A song of ice and fire or Dragon Age

Here it is, the final chapter to the first part of my Game of Dragons series. It has been a long ride, longer than I originally intended to make the fic. But I haven't regretted it. Anyway hope everyone enjoys the chapter.

* * *

House Amell of Westeros

Final Chapter : Hope of the Amells

Dayk rubbed his eyes as he got out of bed, the two serving girls from the evening both curled up in the sheets. He stood, stretched and splashed the nearby water jug over his face. Then he got dressed and had the Tyrell servant seeing to his needs, instead see to the treatment of the girls. They deserved good food and baths, just for a night, then Dayk would have his own staff see them home. Stepping out onto the castle walls of Highgarden, Dayk looked at the magnificent fields of the most prosperous land in the seven kingdoms. The Tyrells were the opposite of the Amells in how they flaunted their riches. Dayk seemed out of place amongst the more finely dressed Tyrells, but him standing out had been a good thing. Last night he had earned the ears of many Tyrell vassals, including Randyll Tarly, though Dayk hated the man.

'A good soldier, but an absolute cunt to his son,' Dayk remembered, through his hangover, befriending young Samwell Tarly.

Not the image of his father, and Dayk suspected he would not follow his father's footsteps. Sam however did have an intellect, and Dayk adopted the belief most of the Meadow and the Amells did. When you saw talent, you don't belittle it, you empower it. Tarly would waste the strength he could gain from Samwell's development. He was ignorant and Dayk despised that sort of thing. But he acknowledged that Tarly was better as an ally and not an enemy.

'Other than that, a good night,' Dayk thought.

He went into the training yard, where Loras was practicing with the master at arms Vortimer Crane. Loras leant on his sword and smiled as Dayk passed.

"Good morning Dayk, how was your sleep?" Loras asked.

"Comforting," was Dayk's simple answer.

The young Tyrell heir smirked and chuckled at Dayk's comment, knowing his reputation when it came to women. He resumed his fencing position, continuing the spar with Vortimer's assistants. Dayk undid his belt, abandoning his sword and taking up one of the blunted blades. Unlike the other boys however he didn't put training armour over his grey clothes.

"Do you truly want to do this my friend?" Loras asked.

"What better way to wake oneself up?" Dayk swayed his sword back and forth, a way of beckoning the other fighters to come at him.

Loras leant on his sword and watched as the other two rushed Dayk. The young Amell parried the blow to his left, ducked under the right one and knocked both fighters together. He then elbowed one in the back, knocking him on top of his ally.

"Dead," Dayk said.

He turned to Loras and raised the guard of his sword to his nose. Both bowed in their own mocking ways, before they began their duel. They parried, slashed, and thrust their blades, moving across the arena. Dayk blocked Loras's thrust and tried to trip him. The knight of flowers stumbled slightly and swung his sword at Dayk. He leant back, surprised that Loras's blade nearly caught his face. Dayk attempt to catch Loras in his side, but Loras deflected the blow, then brought his sword to Dayk's neck.

"Yield," he said.

Dayk batted the sword aside with his wrist and swung his sword as hard as he could. Both blades shattered when they came into contact with one another. One of the pieces caught Dayk in the cheek, cutting it open. He looked at his blood and huffed.

"Are you all right?" Loras asked.

"I am, good match as always Loras, even when we're sparring I can't afford to hold back," Dayk said.

"You should have Maester Lomys look at that scratch," Loras said.

"I'll be fine, thank you for the match Loras, if you excuse me," Dayk bowed his head and walked away.

He had to laugh inwardly, before Dayk had been disgusted by Loras's taste. Now he understood that people couldn't help loving who they loved. Spending time with Loras had given Dayk a friend, and someone to practice his swordplay on. He still didn't actually consider Loras a true friend though, an ally at least but not someone he would place complete trust in. Dayk began to make his way to the castle gardens. Kings landing's grand garden paled in comparison to the flawless mass of colour and gold that decorated the courtyard of the castle. There was an emphasis on roses of course, the red and white rose brushed against one another as Dayk stopped to read a book. The sun shined down on him, and Dayk momentarily lost himself in the feeling of its rays.

'There's beauty everywhere in Highgarden, it has a grander light than the Meadow. Yet still, despite my love for this place, my heart yearns for home,' he thought.

Tomorrow, or perhaps earlier in the day, he would begin his journey back. There was nothing more for him to gain in Highgarden, short of swearing himself to the service of the Tyrells. They were a rich family, on par with the Lannisters, and the bonds they shared with one another surpassed that of the Amells. For Dayk could still not suppress his resentment of his mother, for what he perceived as her loving a far off child more than him.

"This is a good spot to sit at times, would you be willing to share?"

Dayk looked up from his book and smiled at Margaery.

"For you Lady Tyrell, always," he said.

Margaery sat beside him on the stool.

"I saw your match with Loras earlier, does something trouble you?" she asked.

"I didn't think I would, but, I'm beginning to miss the Meadow," Dayk said.

"Your heart is there after all."

"I would rather leave my heart here with you," Dayk said.

"Lord Amell," Margaery smirked.

"Lady Tyrell," he gave her the same cheeky look she gave him.

"I would be flattered, if not for the lovers you took last night," she said.

"Honestly, I would be happiest with only one woman," Dayk dared to be forward, running a finger through Margaery's hair.

"And what kind of lady would earn the affection of Dayk Amell 'the lady killer'?" Margaery Tyrell asked and Dayk laughed.

"That's really what everyone is calling me?" he asked.

"No, that's what I call you, they all call you 'the young Amell'," Margaery giggled.

"Really? Well I suppose it could be worse, but I'd rather you'd call me something else," Dayk said, inching closer to Margaery.

He ran his finger down her cheek, then rubbed her bare shoulder.

"And what would you rather have me call you?" Margaery asked, tilting her head towards his.

"Beloved," Dayk whispered.

They parted their lips and...

"Lord Amell!"

Dayk frowned as Margaery smiled. They turned to Maester Lomys, whom held a parchment in his hand. It had the Amell Sigel on it.

"A raven from the Meadow came," the Maester said.

"Thank you," Dayk took the parchment from Lomys and broke the seal.

He looked at Lomys, whom was clearly staying to watch over Margaery, the daughter of his lord and a precious marriage resource. Dayk turned away from him and rolled out the letter. It was his brother's hand writing, relaying a message from Ferelden. Margaery watched Dayk read the message, seeing his eyes narrow, and hands shake. He shook his head for a moment, then crumbled up the letter. A tear fell down his cheek, almost hesitantly.

"What's wrong?" she asked, touching Dayk's shoulder.

* * *

A day earlier-the Meadow

Revion screamed, slamming his hands into his grandfather's desk, scattering letters from other lords and maps across the floor. Selene stood near, seeing her husband in agony, an agony caused by a simple letter. He slammed his fists into the desk again and again, screaming to the heavens like an animal. She slowly approached him, seeing him grip his head, shaking it in denial of the tragic news he had received. He was shaking in fury and she closed her eyes, moving her arms to hug him. Her husband turned away for a moment, becoming tense as her arms wrapped around him. Then he fell to his knees and her with him as he cried like a child.

"I am here my love, I am here, tell me please what is wrong," she gasped in pain for a moment as he gripped her wrist tightly.

"My dream, it's over...he's gone, he's gone," he whispered.

Selene rubbed her love's hair and held him close. What rage he had before faded into his sorrow.

* * *

Dorne

Dayla stood at the docks, her head held low. She looked at the ocean waves, their deceptively tranquil nature, their entrapping peaceful rhythm. Behind her stood a Princess of Dorne, Arianne Martell. She walked closer to the warrior of the Meadow and followed her eyes to the sea.

"Do you want to cross it?" she asked.

"You know, when our grandfather spoke, he often spoke of dreams. He empowered us to pursue our dreams, god knows what Revion desires now, or what Dayk wants now. I want to be a warrior, the greatest of the Meadow," Dayla explained.

"Well, you're certainly besting those in Dorne," Arianne said.

"But before that, when we were young, we had another dream, all of us...we wanted to meet our brother," Dayla said and Arianne lowered her grin.

She nodded her head.

"What has happened?" she asked.

"We received word from Ferelden, the army at Ostagar was wiped out, including the Grey Wardens. Teryn Loghain has taken control of the country through his daughter the queen, he says that, that..." Dayla's hand shook and her face twisted from sadness to fury. "He called the Grey Wardens traitors, said they had led King Cailan to his death!"

"I am sorry Dayla."

"My brother, I don't know how but I just know, he wouldn't have done that, not betrayed like that in the midst of a battle, when other lives were at stake. I know circumstances change, that there are things beyond our control. Maybe Daylen did get involved with such people, or maybe Loghain's just lying, it makes me want to go across the seas and kill the bastard, because the dream of our childhood is gone," Dayla explained.

"To meet the man your brother had become," Arianne said.

"And to go on an adventure, to do something incredible together, that was our dream," Dayla raised her head to look at the sky.

"I have never known what it is like to be away from my family, in Dorne, even bastards are accepted as family, perhaps we take that closeness for granted," Arianne explained.

"Yes, you do," Dayla said, whether she meant to be so harsh Arianne didn't know.

"Take what time you need to mourn, I will speak with my father about you staying longer," Arianne said.

"No, my business here is done, it's time I return to my travels," Dayla walked past Arianne and began making her way to the ship.

"What exactly did you discuss with my father and uncle inside his office?" Arianne asked.

Dayla looked over her shoulder and grinned half heartedly at the princess.

"My grandfather's new dream," she said.

She left the princess of Dorne confused. Dayla stepped onto the trade ship, giving a few gold coins for the way and going into the hold like a regular passenger. Resting her spear on her shoulder, she closed her eyes, fighting the tear that rolled down her cheek.

'Cousin Aristanna, mother, I pray neither of you are alone,' she thought.

* * *

King's landing

Revka stood alongside Aristanna, the girl was playing a tune on her flute. She was losing herself in the song. Tears fell down her face as she played, but Revka remained still. Her eyes drifted shut and she dreamt, imagining the face of her boy, imagining what could have been, imagining the dream of her father. A dream he had nearly every night since the fall of his friend. Revka too had that dream, of bringing her child with her to Westeros.

She imagined the man he would become, perhaps a white armour knight of the kings guard, protecting Rhaegar or his son Aegon. No, she corrected herself, he was too good for such a thing. Too good to bound himself to the oaths of an organisation like the kings guard. He would be as his grandfather was, a wanderer, a man who moved from one person to another, helping them. In Westeros he could have forged a legend, the legend of Daylen Amell.

Aristanna lowered her flute and looked up at the sky.

"Our contact's letter in Ferelden, it doesn't confirm that he's actually gone, only that Ostagar was lost," she said.

"They said all of the Grey Wardens perished, it would have been extremely difficult to escape the battlefield, especially from the Darkspawn," Revka stated.

Her dreaming interrupted, she stood and began walking back into the keep.

"Aunt Revka, where are you going?" Aristanna asked.

"Queen Cersei requested my presence at lunch, it would be unwise to disappoint her," Revka said.

"But you are still grieving!"

"It is a royal order, what makes you think I can refuse it?" Revka asked.

"You are Revka Amell, you don't rush, even for the queen...I, I don't to believe that it is true auntie Revka, I don't want to believe it. All that potential you told us of, all that faith you placed in him. You must doubt this news yourself, cousin Daylen woul..."

"Wake up, your cousin Daylen was just a boy, a mage yes, but a boy who ultimately couldn't escape fate. There was nothing special about him, nothing divine, he was a child that should have died, but it was only our denial of nature that stopped that," Revka explained.

"HE WAS YOUR SON!" Aristanna yelled.

"HE IS JUST A..."

"DON'T CALL HIM A BASTARD!" Aristanna screamed. "Don't say he was the result of some affair with a foreigner either, or just a child that you picked up off of the streets. None of that matters, because you loved him, love him, he **is** your son. He's my cousin, Dayla, Revion and Dayk's brother, he was my father's nephew and grandfather's grandson. You all loved him, back in Kirkwall, when he became a mage you loved him. When you crossed the sea you loved him, when you rebelled against the mad king you loved him. When father died protecting the innocent, you loved him. When we made the meadow our home, our paradise, you loved him. When you protected Zayne and I, you loved him, when you defied the king you loved him. HE IS YOUR SON!"

Revka looked at her niece in shock, seeing a new strength in the little girl. Then she recalled it, the time she stood between an armed Joffrey and her friend. She saw the scars on the palms of the girls hand and remembered, this speech was not some new show of strength. It was a reminder of the strength she had always possessed. Then she saw it, standing beside the little girl, an apparition. Her father, smiling proudly at she whom had inherited his will.

"I will continue to believe that he is alive, because he made a promise, to become a hero like my father did," Aristanna said.

"Your father died," stated Revka.

"A knight is sworn to valour, his heart knows only virtue, his blade defends the helpless, his might upholds the weak, his word speaks only truth, his wrath undoes the wicked. My father was a hero, SAY OTHERWISE AND I'LL PUNCH YOU!"

Revka stood in shock at the fierceness in Aristanna's eyes. She stood firm, as her father had against the Stark men, as she had once against the king and Cersei. In that moment, she embodied the strength of the Amells. Turning on her heel, Aristanna walked away and Revka reached out to her.

"I...I'm sorry," she whispered. 'But, how can reality be denied? Should I deny it?'

* * *

Highgarden

Fitting for the Reach, when it was sunny it truly shined and when it rained, it poured. Not enough to kill the fields, but enough to force those planting the fields to come inside. No Tyrell ever worked a field, even Margaery for all the charity she granted the common folk had ever gotten her hands dirty reaping grain. As it poured outside, Margaery prepared for her sleep. When she was about to climb into bed, there was a thud at her balcony. She turned to it, gasping and shocked, frightened even. She was going to call for the guards, when Dayk emerged from the curtains. He stood drenched by the rain, head low.

"Dayk, what are you doing here?" she asked, then saw the redness of his eyes.

"Are women the only ones who can go into men's rooms and try to seduce them?" Dayk asked, putting on a grin.

"We do not...Dayk," Margaery diverted her defences over the behaviour of women in the game and walked towards him.

She grabbed hold of his shoulders and guided him to the fire place.

"That letter, it was about your brother, the one in Ferelden," she said.

"It was," Dayk removed his gloves and rung them out, pouring the water onto the floor. "I didn't expect it to upset me, but it did," he rubbed his eyes and leant against the mantel piece.

"Why have you come up here Dayk, no jokes, be honest with me," Margaery said.

"Because I lost someone I loved, and I want to be with someone I love right now, because being with her, makes me feel better," Dayk explained.

He stepped closer to her, kissing the side of her head and then her neck. She closed her eyes and savoured the feeling of his mouth on her skin. But then she recoiled, pushing against Dayk's chest.

"You mustn't," she whispered.

"Why, because you want to be a queen, not a lady of the Meadow?" he asked.

"No, I want to be the queen," Margaery said.

"Oh yeah, Renly's plan, for you to become one of Robert's whores, a replacement for Lyanna Stark...even though I suspect you actually look nothing like her, not that Robert would realise, and not that it matters to him," Dayk explained.

Angered by his comment, Margaery slapped him across the face. He stood and endured it, not even bothered by it as he grabbed Margaery's hand. He suddenly slammed her against the wall, silencing her surprise with a kiss. When they separated, she was blushing, her hand on his chest.

"When you do become queen, when your scheming pays off, I will swear loyalty to you, I will support you with what power from the Meadow I can gain, even if your ideals spit in the face of everything the Amells stand for. Even if you become a tyrant over the common people, I will be your sword and your will. But tonight, if even just an act, I want to be with you, to love you and be loved by you," he explained.

Margaery pulled her hand from Dayk's grip and pushed him away from her. Instead of screaming though, she stood gracefully in front of him.

"No act," she said.

She slipped off her gown, revealing the perfection of her body. Then she pulled Dayk into a kiss, a quick peck on the cheek as she removed his shirt.

"Just for tonight, let us both love each other, let me help you forget your pain, and help me Dayk. Just for one night, help me escape fate," she pulled off his top and guided him to her bed. "The fate of those women whom play the game."

"Tonight, tomorrow, whenever you wish, always my love," he said.

Margaery slipped her arms around Dayk's neck and wrapped her legs around his waist. Their lips passionately embraced and he swung her around, gently laying her on the bed. He wasted no time in pulling off his trousers, and they both embraced. They kissed their bare skin, crawling underneath the covers of her bed to make love. He kissed her back and breasts, made her gasp and moan and she him. It was a perfect moment between the two. There was no game tonight, no ambition, just raw passion and the moment of bliss to forget pain. Neither was dominant over the other, the moment beginning with Margaery's hands on his back and then on his chest, sitting on his waist as they both panted.

"I love you Margaery, I truly love you," Dayk whispered, rubbing her head.

"I know," she laughed softly, sliding to his side, resting her hand on his chest, one leg curled over his.

"I'll leave as soon as I can, before anyone else is awake," he said.

"Hush, don't worry, there are no spiders in Highgarden," she kissed his cheek and then rested her head on his shoulder.

They laid together in bed for a moment, the fire itself had died out.

"Did you think you didn't love your brother?" she asked him.

"I thought I didn't, but I find myself remembering a time I begged Bryan and our guards to go to Ferelden and rescue Daylen, then I had the dream," Dayk said.

"What dream?"

"Daylen returning one day, I don't even know what he truly looks like, but somehow I know that he's my brother and...the dream ends when we hug."

"Why exactly can't he return to you?"

"Magic exists Margaery!"

"Does it truly, have you seen it? The common folk believe in superstition, it's necessary to keep them from believing they can be greater than us. But we are high born Dayk, our sensibilities are greater. The only thing we need fear are those whom rival us in the game," Margaery explained.

"You can keep believing that, you can all keep believing that. And I pray that magic never comes to these shores, what your 'game' will become with demons and the power of magic is the stuff of my nightmares," Dayk explained.

He dressed, leaving Margaery on her bed, a blanket across her chest. When he had put on his gloves, he turned to her, kissing her one last time before jumping off the balcony, onto the tree adjacent to her window. He continued walking, smiling, grief could bring people together. His brother was gone, but he had been far away anyway. Grief would not consume the young Amell, for he had a new emotion to focus on.

'Queen Margaery Tyrell, somehow, the title suits her,' he looked up at the sky and began thinking of the world where his love would achieve her dreams.

* * *

 _"GAAAGH!"_

 _"Fortunate he has been through the joining ritual, he would already be dead!"_

 _"What are you doing to him?"_

 _"Trying to heal him, now move aside fool."_

 _"Hmmm, this one has dabbled in blood magic I see...and something much darker, interesting!"_

 _"You said you would help him._

 _"If you stop getting in our way yes."_

 _"You know what to do?"_

 _"Of course mother, now let's see to this shoulder wound."_

 _"NAGH!"_

 _"Darkspawn arrows, so frustratingly fierce in the wounds they give, yet magnificent too."_

 _"Oh mother, now, off with this armour."_

 _"By the maker, his arm, so that's why he couldn't stop it from shaking!"_

 _"HA, oh this one is interesting, nothing can be done for the surface, but let us see if we can at least delay its inner decay. You might want to block your ears pup, and go outside, this will not be a pleasant sight."_

 _"AAAAAAAGH!"_

* * *

"DAYLEN!" Fausten screamed.

The former head of the Amell was in a tent, surrounded by his closest friends. His beard had grown dirty, nails long and eyes dark from the strain of living. Garbed in white, he looked at Stone and Stork, weakly.

"My friends, you have remained," he whispered.

"We will never abandon you my friend," Stone said.

"I dreamed of my grandson, I dreamed that he...that he, I must go to Ferelden, must go," the man began to cough, even as his nurses tried to feed him water.

"We will have to cancel our plans, we cannot take Astapor like this," Stork said.

"Ancestors damn the plan, we can change it, make it so that Faust doesn't have to fight!"

"The men assembled won't follow anyone but Faust, there is no plan without him," Stork glared at the dwarf.

"Please," Fausten whispered.

Both his friends looked at him and relented their fighting.

"Move on with your lives, tell all the men to move on with their lives. Seek new lords to serve, return to Westeros even. Let them speak truthfully, of my foolishness, of my attempt to get one last adventure. Live on my friends," Fausten's eyes drifted shut and his hand fell to the floor.

"Faust, Faust, FAUST!" Stone screamed, shaking his friend and yelling.

Stork lowered his head in grief. From outside the tent, those watching saw, Fausten Amell, the phoenix of the Amell family had passed.

* * *

Word spread thanks to Varys's spiders, in the small council chamber of the red keep, the assembled council members were told of Fausten Amell's passing.

"Oh, such a pity, Lady Amell has not yet recovered from the grief of her son's betrayal in Ferelden," Maester Pycelle's voice held pity, but Varys could see the smirk through the man's beard.

Whatever he felt about Fausten himself, he had no respect for Lady Revka and had actually been happy when news of her distant son's death reached the ears of the council. Varys remembered that meeting, Lord Arryn had spent only a few seconds on the matter of Ferelden. The blight was simply a story of a distant land, a frightening story, but not one the council mulled over. Varys observed the reactions of the other members. Lord Renly had his mouth wide open, he was in shock, like a few young nobles, he had fought Fausten Amell invincible. Even Stannis had been taken in by the legend of the greatest warrior in the Free Marches. He was standing, seemingly looking at the table but Varys saw the quiver in his eyes. Lord Arryn's head was low and he remained silent, it would be some time before he moved on to the next subject. Littlefinger was silent as well, clearly he had some sort of respect for the man, even if he had been a business rival.

"Bullshit, Fausten's dead," Robert spat out his wine when he was told.

In Winterfell, Ned lowered his head in respect and had his children take a moment of silence too. Tywin showed no sign of mourning, but when by himself Tywin sighed. He had thought he would be relieved, he had never liked Fausten Amell. But his respect for the man could not be denied.

A few of the soldiers whom had gone with Fausten, returned to the Meadow. There, Dayla comforted Dayk, who had been so grief stricken he couldn't practice at his usual time. Revion stood in his office, looking at a package he had received recently. Selene walked to his side, resting her head on his shoulder.

"They will be counting on you more than ever my love," she said.

"No, the strength of our house, does not lie in a single person," he said.

He turned to the window and looked out at his family.

"It is, in hope," he smiled.

"Hope in our love for our family and our cherished ones," he looked at his brother.

"Hope in our strength to protect our home," he looked at his sister.

"Our hope that our actions are just and honourable," he remembered his uncle and his last stand.

"Hope in the better nature of the people around us." he pictured his cousin, dancing and playing her flute to the applauding crowds in King's landing.

"Our hope that things will get better, and that if they don't, our actions will make things better," he pictured his mother, helping her staff with the orphanage in the capital.

"Hope that the future we dream of, the future that those we cherished cannot see, can be made a reality," he pictured his grandfather and the dead Targaryens.

"The hope that through all our struggles and pain, we will achieve our dreams in the end," he imagined Daylen, standing defiant against a dark mage, arm extended from when he had blocked Leo's fire.

Revion opened the package and smiled. His grandfather's lance, with the banner attached to it.

"What does it mean?" Selene asked.

"It means, our new dream has begun," Revion smiled.

* * *

Stone and Stork both stood inside a tent in the desert, the former tapping his foot impatiently. Neither stood with grief across their faces.

"Come on Faust, I'm pretty sure the spiders aren't watching anymore," the dwarf said gruffly.

"How did I do?" Fausten asked, emerging from his room.

He had cut his nails and shaved off his beard.

"Sympathies have been given to your family over your death, the word has spread, how was living amongst the goat herders?" Stone asked.

"They are good people, it's worth us fighting for them," Fausten said.

"Our men are ready to begin the first step," Stork said.

The first step in the campaign, and the beginning of his new dream. Fausten began to put on his new armour, wood and steel woven together, a method a people from the East used in the construction of their armour and weapons. Simple looking plates covering his chest, then arm guards and others for his joints. He then threw his cloak over his shoulders, it was long enough to cover his arms, act as warmth in the desert and partly conceal his face. Throwing the curved, eastern style bow over his back, he finally put on his helmet. Again it was the eastern style, but not his usual red. Instead it was black, with a golden ornament at the front. He slid his eastern style sword into its sheath and walked out of the tent.

 _(300 OST-Remember Us)_

Fausten, or 'Marcher' as he had begun to go by, walked amongst the villagers whom had volunteered to fight. Beyond them were the many mercenaries and soldiers he had gathered. Many of whom, like Durad had come because of the promise of future glory. Originally it was thought it would be Astapor, but that was never Fausten's plan. He always intend to take the fight to 'an enemy that does not know defeat'.

"You have come. those of you whom had belief, whom had hope that you would find what you are looking for here," Fausten's voice appeared different.

He had spent many a day practicing in altering his voice just enough to make himself sound different as well. Marcher was a role he threw himself into, he had to become a completely different person to fool the world and protect his family.

"The hope for riches brought you here, and riches will come, when the world learns of what we accomplish here, across that desert, riding towards is a horde of Dothraki riders. A horde led by the undefeated, KHAL DROGO!" he yelled.

The eyes of those in the army widened, shocked that there would be a man whom would challenge the strongest of the Dothraki people.

"Stand with me, and I promise you, untold glory will await us and we will prove that the Dothraki are not the greatest warriors of this land, WE ARE!"

The assembled army raised their weapons and cheered.

"Today, we save this village and others like it from a society of monsters, and take our first steps towards becoming legends. With me warriors, TO VICTORY AND GLORY!" he roared.

'And,' Fausten thought as his men followed behind him. 'We take the first step in the plan to revive the Targaryen dynasty!'

 _(End OST)_

* * *

Ferelden

Three figures walked along the countryside, a fence on their left and the trees to their right. One was wearing a brown leather vest with fur on the neck, carrying a shield with a sheathed sword on it, he held the strap of the shield over his shoulder. The wind blew his hood off, revealing a blonde haired man.

"Well we found the path, maybe at Lothering we can find some help," he said.

"And did my mother and I not qualify as help Alistair?" his dark haired travelling companion asked.

She had her hands on her hips, the purple robes on her chest barely concealed her chest, whilst pearls decorated her midriff and black covered her hands and legs. She leant against a wooden staff with branch like decorations, it also had strings hanging off of the tip, animal teeth tied to the ends of them.

"I was thinking more the civilised kind of help Morrigan," Alistair said.

The grey warden huffed as Morrigan shook his head at him.

"Do not expect to find help here, especially for grey wardens, keep your hood up, or at least do something with your hair as Daylen has done," Morrigan said.

Their third companion stopped. He was wearing black shoes and blue trousers and a black long sleeved top. A grey scarf was wrapped around his neck, part of it forming a makeshift hood over his head. He pulled the hood off, revealing flattened out, but still wild brown hair, his scarred face and red eyes. Daylen looked between Alistair and Morrigan, and shrugged, he had already said thank you to Morrigan and Flemeth. This also hadn't been the first time Alistair and Morrigan exchanged words and insults.

'Hopefully the whole adventure won't be like this, I mean, they'll learn to like each other eventually,' Daylen hoped optimistically.

He smiled and looked up at the sky, seeing the clouds. His thoughts drifted to his family in Westeros, building their new lives, making their dreams. The wind flapped the end of his scarf behind him, and he raised his hand to his heart. His hand didn't shake as much as it had before, whatever Morrigan and Flemeth had done to it, the inner damage to his nerves had been slightly repaired.

"One day, I will see you all, the day grandfather, when I have fulfilled our dream!" Daylen whispered.

Then he looked at the path ahead, his arrows narrowed in confusion. Was it a dog he was seeing running towards them?

* * *

King's landing

Revka looked up at the sky and smiled. She was returning to the red keep, just after she had seen to the orphanage. When she got through the gate, she saw Cersei waiting with her arms crossed.

"Still gallivanting in the dirt?" the queen asked.

Revka raised her arms, not afraid to show off the dirt and even shit on her dress. After a bath and dress, Revka walked with Cersei in the garden. They stopped near where Jamie watched over Tommen and Myrcella, the royal children were listening to Aristanna play her flute. Revka looked at her niece and saw in her the embodiment of the hope the family had. Or at least a hope she knew she shared with Aristanna. That was why Aristanna was playing the song.

"Beautiful, but it doesn't seem as good as her old work," Cersei said.

"That your grace is because it isn't finished, it's a song she's continuing to write," Revka stated and walked with Cersei to the children.

"What is it called Aristanna?" Myrcella asked.

Aristanna lifted the flute away from her lips and traded a glance with her mother.

"Hope was one thing I was thinking of, I haven't finished it after all this is just the beginning, I'm hoping to make it longer than my other songs," Aristanna explained.

"Really, why haven't you finished it yet?" Tommen asked.

"Because you see, the story that it tells, hasn't ended yet," Aristanna said and again looked at her aunt for approval.

Revka smiled and nodded, for she too still believed that there was much more to tell.

"Perhaps you could name it after the hero," Jamie suggested.

"Well, that would seem a bit too easy," Revka hummed.

"We need more than hope, is there another name?" Myrcella asked.

"Please don't laugh, in fact, here, we'll whisper it so that your mother and uncle don't find out," Aristanna beckoned to the children, Jamie veined hurt and Cersei smirked.

Aristanna lowered her voice to a whisper, into the ears of the prince and princess:

"The legend of Daylen!"

End of book one

* * *

Book Two: The Phoenix and the Griffon

Essos and Ferelden, two regions separated by a vast sea. But in these respective lands, two legends, linked by bond and the future are being forged. Under the name James Marcher, Fausten Amell is building a mercenary army for the surviving Targaryens, a quest that will take him from the free cities and across the Dothraki sea and even through the Red Waste. In Ferelden, the grey wardens are declared traitors and hunted, yet Daylen Amell must protect the country from the Blight. Both must gather armies to face the great threats of the lands they wander.

* * *

Hope everyone enjoyed the story, I'm hoping for the next story to have much more excitement in it. There will be a lot more of Daylen as it follows his efforts in the Fifth Blight, also a lot more Fausten and much more battle scenes.

Had thought of doing a short spin off, a what if that showcases what could have happened if the Amells got to bring Daylen with them to Westeros, and if they had sided with the Targaryens during Robert's rebellion. Tell me what you think?


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